


Kingsflame

by noodlecatposts



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horse Racing, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Children, Divorce, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, Horse Racing, Horses, Loss of Parent(s), more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:26:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24967420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlecatposts/pseuds/noodlecatposts
Summary: In the days of her childhood, Galathynius Farms was Aelin’s home. It was picturesque, filled with sunny days chasing dragonflies and starry nights sat by a warm fire and sharing stories. That all changed after the divorce.A decade of living overseas later, Aelin has lost touch with her old roots—and with her father. The people there are strangers to her and she to them. Yet, when tragedy strikes, Aelin returns at last to her childhood home, only to discover that things are not as she remembers them on the family farm.
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn
Comments: 26
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a story I've worked on intermittently for about two years now. At first, it was just a way for me to work through my grief of losing a family member that I was very close to, but then it turned into a whole thing. On that note, warnings for topics such as grief, the angst that comes with the loss of a loved one, and adult content... eventually.
> 
> The setting for this story is a horse farm. That being said, I'd like to include a disclaimer that my knowledge of horses is limited to my brief tenure as a "farmhand" for a family friend in exchange for horseback riding lessons. Because what sane adult wouldn't let a kid shovel manure in exchange for riding lessons? Google has obviously assisted me in this endeavor.

**CHAPTER ONE**

Of all the things to bring Aelin Galathynius back to her childhood home, she didn’t expect it to be a tragedy. It’s been years since she visited home, visited her father. Though, she never harbored any ill will for Orynth. It was merely that she left one day, returned to her harried day-to-day life in Varese, and, well, her life happened. Aelin forgot to look back.

How was she supposed to know that that warm summer day— the day she left to enjoy her very first year of college— would be her last visit home for so long? At the time, it all seemed so routine: spend the summer with her father and the winter break with her mother—the life of a divorce-kid.

Yet, as her designer heels sink down into the brown-green earth of the yard, Aelin realizes with a jolt how long it’s been since the last time she was home. Her last visit was over a decade ago.

It hurts to see how much things changed.

At a cursory glance, Galathynius Farms looks how Aelin remembers. Upon closer examination, she notes that the stables could use another coat of paint, and the Galathynius farmhouse needs a new roof. Aelin recalls how the mailbox at the beginning of the drive was dilapidated, too, a warning sign for what was to come.

Aelin has to shut out that train of thought quickly; she’s determined not to cry before she gets herself alone. She spares a quick glance over her shoulder at the taxi driver, pretending not to see the pity in his eyes as he helps her unload her luggage. Aelin believes that she knows the older man; although, she can’t be sure just how.

Yet, it’s clear the driver knows exactly who she is, as well as what brings her back to Orynth in the dead of winter. Aelin studiously avoids his eye for fear of giving him any sort of signal that might invite him to begin a conversation. No, she was not ready for that. Not yet.

Kindly, the taxi driver offers to help her carry her bags indoors. Aelin tries to refuse him, but the people in this place are different than back in Varese. They live without the pressure of some invisible countdown that drives them all forward, which makes them impatient and sometimes even cruel. 

The people here in Orynth, Terrasen have always moved slower than the rest of the world; Aelin can still remember very clearly how long it took her to get up to speed with those living in Wendlyn’s capital. Her mother readjusted seamlessly.

So, Aelin lets the man carry her finely made luggage up to the front porch. It’s probably for the best, too, based upon the way her heels make her wobble as she attempts to walk across the dead lawn. Winter’s killed most of the grass, the cold temperatures plunging below freezing without the sun’s aid. Sometimes even with it. Terrasen’s winters have always been cruel.

“Thanks,” Aelin tells that driver awkwardly, shoving a wad of cash into his hands. It’s far more generous than warranted, driven by her discomfort and desire to be left alone. Before he can argue the sum, Aelin closes the door not unkindly, shutting out his befuddled expression and leaving her alone at last.

Aelin sighs, pressing her back into the heavy, paint-chipped oak door; she leans into it for support, faced with the reality of the situation at hand now that she’s alone. It’s been lingering in the back of her mind since the call, but it isn’t until now, until she stands in her childhood home bathed in its own quiet grief, that the truth of it all hits her.

Rhoe Galathynius was gone. Aelin’s father was—

No.

Aelin isn’t ready for that thought yet. She still isn’t convinced that this whole thing isn’t some weird, fucked up dream; all this is just her subconscious way of telling herself that she missed her dad and needed to get her ass back home to visit. Now rather than later. No more putting it off; no more canceling trips at the last second.

But, the call really did come yesterday. Everything is real.

Aelin almost didn’t answer when she saw the caller ID and saw that her old friend Elide was calling; instead, she’d stared long and hard at the screen, waiting for the call to go to voicemail so that she could continue on with her scrolling. But something provoked her to answer.

Elide is perhaps the only person that Aelin remained in contact with after moving away from Terrasen. It was more due to the brunette’s stubborn persistence than from any contribution coming from Aelin, and even then, the communications were sporadic at best. 

Still, Aelin knew it was strange for Elide to call without a heads up. The woman has always been more of a texter, a true product of their generation. A sudden wave of panic convinced Aelin to answer just in the nick of time, and she was right to do so. The conversation that Elide needed to have with her was definitely an important one, potentially the most important call of her life.

*

Aelin abandons her bags in the foyer and makes her way up the staircase, determined to keep herself busy. The pictures along the wall require some dusting, and the carpet could use a good vacuuming. 

Things to do, Aelin liked that. Her father never was much of a cleaner; no, Aelin inherited her organization from her mother, Evalin.

Evalin. Aelin’s socialite mother returned to her family home of Varese after the divorce, becoming a prominent figure in the more elegant circles of Terrasen. Still, Aelin will always remember her as the woman who made her organize her sock drawer, by purpose and color.

_Wearing the proper socks is just as important as matching your shoes to your outfit._

Isla went to school today in mismatched socks, Aelin suddenly remembers. One in a rainbow pattern and the other brown with polka dots; it was what Isla wanted, and Aelin learned long ago to pick and choose her battles with her daughter. What a random thought.

Evalin Ashryver never remarried. Aelin doesn’t know what bothers her more: that it’s evident to anyone and everyone that her mother never fell out of love with her father or that that love wasn’t enough to keep the two of them together. It’s probably best not to try and figure out; it’s too late to make a difference anyway.

Without really considering where she’s going, Aelin finds herself standing in the doorway of her father’s study. Rhoe Galathynius always hid out here, balancing the accounts and writing out schedules for the farm’s employees. Papers placed in different stacks cover the small, round table resting in the center of the oversized room; there’s an actual desk tucked away into the corner of the room, but Aelin can’t remember if she ever actually saw her father use it. 

Thinking of him in the past tense startles Aelin. It’s barely been 24 hours since Elide called, delivered the devastating news, but the house looks as if Rhoe merely stepped out to run an errand, maybe yell at a trainer he was watching from the half-open window. The radio still plays the terrible country station so prevalent in this town. No one ever found Rhoe Galathynius listening to the Top 40.

“Well, I guess I should get to work,” Aelin tells herself. There are so many things for her to do now; she can hardly fathom how she’ll get it all done before catching her flight back to Varese.

She begins to form a mental list. Funeral arrangements; the Owens ran the local funeral home, right? Did they sell after the plant nearby closed and caused a mass exodus? Would her father want something religious? Did he even go to church? There were bills for Aelin to pay and accounts to settle. Aelin didn’t even know where her father’s body was right now.

She bites her tongue to stave off the tears that threaten.

Her mother all but begged for Aelin to accept her offer to come along, but Aelin insisted that she could handle everything on her own. Evalin needed to stay behind in Varese; her mother couldn’t miss that much time with the nonprofit she ran, Aelin argued. Besides, someone needed to remain behind with Isla. Aelin didn’t want to bring an eight-year-old with them to deal with all of this.

“You always did have terrible organizational skills, Dad,” she mumbles aloud, flipping through the pages.

As she stares at the table, Aelin begins to wonder if maybe she should have let Evalin come along. Her mother would know what to do right now; the woman had a masterful ability to compartmentalize her feelings during a crisis. Aelin always did her best to mirror her mother’s skills, but she had just enough of Rhoe in her that made it more difficult, if not sometimes impossible.

Aelin wore her heart on her sleeve. _Fireheart_ , her mother calls her.

A sob chokes its way out of Aelin at last, managing to escape on an inhale. Aelin clasps her hand over her mouth as if she might be capable of forcing the motion to stay inside where it belongs—where she needs it to remain. She sinks into the chair at the little round table, and Aelin decides that maybe the first thing on her list should be to grieve. Just a little. 

So, she cries.

*

The sound of the office door slamming open is what snaps Aelin out of her hazy grief. A woman stands in the doorway, looking surprised to see someone in Rhoe’s office. All things considered, the suspicion in the woman’s golden’s eyes isn’t that unwarranted.

“Interesting,” the intruder observes. She doesn’t say anything else.

Aelin leans back in her chair, quickly trying to wipe away the tear stains on her cheeks, but there’s no way this stranger hasn’t seen them. She’s been caught.

“Who are you?” Aelin doesn’t mean for her words to be so accusatory, but she feels defensive at finding some stranger in her father’s home. Her childhood home. There was no one here when she arrived, and so, the person standing in front of her clearly feels at home enough here to let herself in. The thought makes Aelin edgy.

“Manon.” Her eyes are sharp as she takes Aelin in. “And you’re Aelin.”

She must look surprised at being recognized, but Manon just shrugs, motioning back towards the hallway and the many pictures that line it, explaining, “Your face is everywhere in this house. You’re older, and your hair is short now, but you’re Aelin.”

Something about that sentence makes Aelin’s eyes blur with tears again, but she powers through the emotions and rubs a hand down her face, makeup be damned. “What can I help you with, Manon?”

Manon’s eyes are harsh, razor-sharp, but Aelin doesn’t miss the hint of sympathy she finds in the other woman’s eyes. If Manon knows who she is, then she knows what Aelin is doing here. Still, Manon is cautious of the stranger in the house, which hits Aelin harder than anything. 

When did she become a stranger here, in her childhood home? When did she start to no longer belong?

“Don’t worry about it,” Manon shrugs. “I was looking for Rowan. I’ll try the barn out back.”

“Who’s Rowan?” Aelin asks, stopping Manon’s retreating figure.

Her golden eyes are confused by the question. “He works as a trainer with—Rhoe.”

Aelin’s eyes flutter shut at the mention of her father. Right. Rhoe Galathynius, try as he might, would never be able to tend to this whole farm on his own. There’s too much to do in one day for one person—several people even. Rhoe had employees; Aelin’s never really thought to ask about them, to keep up with their comings and goings.

Yet, another thing to tackle. Another to-do.

With a sigh, Aelin stands up; the chair screeches as it slides across the worn hardwood floors. The sound is deafening in the silence stretching between the two women. Manon doesn’t give off the impression that she’s the kind of woman to refrain from saying what she’s thinking. She must be biting her tongue out of respect for Rhoe.

“Do you—” Aelin chokes on unshed tears, but she thinks she manages not to flush too severely. She’s too tired from crying. “Would you like some help looking for him?”

“Uh,” Manon pretends to consider it. “No, I think I’ve got it covered.” 

Aelin isn’t wholly convinced by her words, but, likely, Manon is just trying to avoid troubling Aelin. 

“You’ve got enough on your hands.” Manon’s jaw tightens slightly at her own words before adding, “I can rope tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum into helping.”

“Help with what exactly?” Aelin decides to feel no shame as she sniffles sadly. Her gaze flicks down to the papers she’s pretending to shuffle through while waiting for an answer. Aelin notices then the ominous red ink on some of the forms; that looks like a problem for later—another problem.

Manon is clearly hesitant to provide more information to the stranger in her boss’s home. Aelin’s hackles rise under the severe gaze of the golden-eyed woman, jutting her chin out to reciprocate that challenge. Manon smiles.

“Kingsflame got out,” she tells Aelin. “Sometimes, he gets bored and lets himself out. He never leaves the farm, but it’s a big enough place. It’ll be faster with more people.”

Now that sounds like something that Aelin can focus on, that’s something to keep her mind distracted. “I’ll come help.”

“Really?” Manon’s voice is rife with disappointment. She rests a hand on one hip and tilts her head, analyzing Aelin’s muddy but clearly expensive shoes. “You plan on walking 300 acres in those things?”

“Well,” Aelin crosses her arms defensively. “Based on that ostentatious name, and the fact that this place breeds racehorses, I’m guessing we’re chasing down a rogue thoroughbred.” Manon’s quirked brow confirms Aelin’s assumptions. “So, I was planning to ride, but you can walk if it suits you.”

Manon just grins, pleased by the sass; it’s excellent news because Aelin had no idea what she was going to do if this woman didn’t know how to take a joke. Aelin has a knack for offending people.

“You sure you remember how?” Manon asks, returning the sass.

Aelin slips past the other blonde, planning to root around in her childhood closet for some old boots and maybe a pair of less expensive jeans. Aelin is realizing very quickly that she didn’t pack for a week on a farm. “Sure, I do. It’s like riding a bike.”

*

It’s nothing like riding a bike.

Thanks to her father, and despite her mother’s protests, Aelin learned how to ride a horse before she learned to ride a bike. Growing up on a horse farm, horses were way more appealing to Aelin than a stupid bike. Her opinion on the matter has yet to change.

But, Aelin hasn’t been on a horse in years, much less a bicycle. She’s out of practice and using muscle groups she forgot she owned. By the time one of the stable hands’ radio to say they’ve found King, Aelin is feeling very, very sore.

“So, let’s get this straight,” Aelin muses aloud to Manon. The woman riding next to her sends her an impatient look but says nothing to stop her. “Kingsflame— _King_ gets bored sometimes and just lets himself out for an evening stroll?”

Night has settled over the property like a cool blanket, but Aelin can just make out the lights glowing near the stallion’s stables. They’re meeting the men who found the horse there—two more people Aelin doesn't know.

“Well, yeah,” Manon tells her like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “If you were a racehorse being kept in his stall all day, wouldn’t you get bored?”

Aelin frowns. “Why is he in his stall all day?”

No horse should be kept inside all day; it’s just bad care. Aelin doesn’t miss the little intake of breath Manon takes, nor the silence that stretches between them following her question. Aelin’s heartbeat fills the void; she doesn’t know why she fears the answer.

Manon’s horse whinnies. The woman reaches forward to pat its neck before she speaks. When she does, Aelin thinks her tone is too careful; Manon doesn’t seem like the type of woman to think over her words.

“King is a rescue. You know your dad; Rhoe loves a stray.” Aelin’s heart squeezes; Manon talks like he’s still alive, as if nothing has happened. Manon seems to realize this too, clearing her throat and speaking more softly than before. “He took in King and a few others from a rescue in Allsbrook. He’s… He _was_ working to rehabilitate and rehome them.”

Manon is sugarcoating things. Aelin aches to press for more information, to find out what she’s hiding, but they’re nearly at the stables now. From where they are, Aelin can hear the voices of the people they’re meeting, their silhouettes just barely visible. They speak in fast, hushed tones, clearly bickering back and forth. Though, it seems to be good-natured.

Aelin’s stomach is full of nerves. She feels like an outsider, but she’s home.

“We need to start looking for new homes right away,” Aelin muses aloud, focusing on something other than her nerves.

There’s just enough light for her to make out Manon’s silhouette as the woman goes still; the way her head turns towards Aelin is bone-chilling, a predator eyeing its prey. This terrifying woman worked for her father?

“They’re not ready for new homes,” Manon says coldly. “That’s why they’re here.”

Aelin chooses to watch her horse’s ears flick back and forth rather than meet that cruel, golden gaze. She knew none of this would be easy; she just didn’t think it would be that hard.

“Well, there isn’t anyone here to get them ready now. Not now that—” Aelin chokes on the words; she can’t speak them out loud, isn’t ready to do so.

“Rowan can,” Manon says fiercely. “I can help him. He’s just as good as Rhoe—better even. They just need some more _time_.”

“Manon,” Aelin sighs. This was not the way that Aelin planned to reveal the farm's future. She’s only just met this girl, and she’s about to meet a few more people that will lose their jobs because of her decisions.

But Aelin is exhausted, emotionally and physically, and she doesn’t have a lot of time before she has to return to Varese and to her life. “They don’t have any more time. No one is going to buy a farm riddled with damaged horses.”

“They aren’t damaged— _buy it_?” Aelin can feel the fire burning in Manon’s eyes. “You’re _selling_ the farm?”

“Well, I can’t run a horse farm from Varese,” Aelin tells the other woman, stating the obvious. They close the distance between themselves and the others. The lights make Aelin’s riding partner more visible; she was right about the fire. 

She continues, “I don’t have the money or the experience to manage this place myself, and no one else in my family is going to take on the challenge.

“Hell,” Aelin swears bitterly. “There’s isn’t anyone else. My mother ran from this place a decade ago; she’s not coming back. It’s just me.”

“What about the people who work here? The horses?” Manon manages to yell without raising her voice. Aelin dismounts, leading her mare towards the stables. Manon is right behind her, charging after her with a purpose.

“You’ll find another place to work,” Aelin reassures the woman. “This is Orynth. Take five steps in any direction, and you’ll stumble upon another horse stable. Besides, maybe whoever buys this place will take all of you on to keep the business running.”

Not that there’s much of a business running, but Aelin keeps that thought to herself. She’s trying desperately to keep her calm, to remain detached from the idea of selling her childhood home. She always knew she’d have to sell the place one day when her father passed, but that was supposed to be years from now.

Grief strikes again, stealing her train of thought.

“It’s not like I’m going to just set the horses loose to fend for themselves,” Aelin defends her decision. Manon’s jaw is set hard, her fists clenched at her side; by the sound of footsteps, they’ve got an audience now. Great.

“You’re just planning to turn their world upside down,” Manon hisses. Aelin flinches at the venom in her words; it’s harsh but not untrue, not entirely.

“They’d all have to move on eventually, one way or another. Even if my father was—” Aelin glances away from Manon, backing down. Silhouettes are approaching, closing in on the argument—disagreement—whatever.

The point is, she shouldn’t have to defend herself or her decisions like this, especially not to some stranger. A hateful thought creeps into her mind that she’s the stranger here, not Manon.

Aelin clears her throat and pushes onward. “Look—this place is a business. I don’t know how you haven’t figured that out yet, working here and all, but—”

“Everything alright over here?” A voice interrupts Aelin. 

Manon’s fiery, golden eyes flick away from Aelin to the source, and Aelin’s gaze follows. Three men walk towards them, but it’s the one in the center whose spoken. Aelin can’t make out much of the man’s features in the dim light, but his brilliant white hair glows in the dark. She can tell he’s the kind of man that stands out in the crowd.

Aelin’s riding partner scoffs, digging her boot into the rough dirt beneath her feet. It’s enough of an answer that Aelin doesn’t feel the need to explain herself. 

“Rhoe’s daughter is here,” Manon huffs, crossing her arms and look overtly unimpressed. Aelin is trying really, really hard not to take offense, but Manon is making it difficult for her.

“Oh,” the white-haired man glances towards Aelin. “Rowan Whitethorn.”

He offers her his hand to shake, and Aelin returns the gesture automatically, her conditioning from years of interning and working in professional-office type environments showing. His grip is firm and confident; his hands are rough from work.

Belatedly, Aelin realizes how attractive the people surrounding her are. She doesn’t remember Orynth being so good-looking.

“Aelin Galathynius,” she says. The way Rowan hangs onto her hand feels more like a battle of dominance than an introduction, but Aelin refuses to back down, holding his hard stare. “I was just telling Manon that—”

“ _Aelin Galathynius_ ,” a voice says, emphasizing the syllables of her name. Aelin struggles to make out the face of the person who's speaking.

When she identifies them, her jaw drops. “ _Fenrys? Connall?”_

The twins break into matching grins when she says their names, but it’s Fenrys who sweeps Aelin into a great big hug, lifting the woman off of the ground and twirling her around before she has time to process or protest. 

Connall chuckles; he and Aelin were always friendly, but they were never as close as she was with Fenrys.

The smile that spreads across her face is genuine, and Aelin feels warmth settle into her chest for the first time since that call yesterday. It’s a nice change of mood.

“Man,” Fenrys sighs, setting her back on her feet and looking her over. His thumb is hooked around one of his belt loops, and Aelin thinks she’s never seen a more cowboy move than that. “It’s good to see you, Aelin—even under the circumstances.”

His words are just the right mixture of gentle and sympathetic. It makes Aelin forget all about their audience as her throat clogs up with emotions. Shit, she’s going to cry.

Yet, Manon’s scoff brings her back to the present and helps her forget about her sadness. Rowan is quick to shush the fierce woman, while Aelin catches the look that the twins share before focusing on Manon and Rowan. The man wears exasperation like a second skin.

“She’s going to sell the farm.” Manon’s voice manages that quiet, deadly whisper yell again. This woman can definitely command a room.

An emotion that Aelin can’t place flickers across the Rowan’s face, but he’s quick to school his expression in neutrality, a typical horseman. Still, a muscle flickers at the corner of his jaw, giving him away. The twins gasp, too; they snap their heads in her direction, waiting for confirmation, for an explanation.

Aelin avoids their eyes, hiding from the shame she’s feeling.

“That’s her call to make,” Rowan decides on, pocketing his hands. The words are gruff, forced. Then he lowers his voice, but Aelin deciphers what he says anyway. “It’ll be hard, but we’ll make it work.”

Manon scoffs in response. No one else attempts to step in.

Frustrated, Aelin runs her fingers through the choppy, short ends of her hair, wincing when her fingers catch on a tangle. She can only imagine what she looks like right now to these people; she must be making quite an impression on all of these people.

“I—” The words clog her throat, and Aelin coughs to clear them. “There isn’t anyone to run the place now. Not without—”

She can’t say the words. Aelin wonders if there will ever come a time that she can; she tries to remind herself that it’s barely been a day, that it’ll get easier with time, but Aelin feels wretched anyway. 

“Selling the farm is the only viable option,” she says, proud to find her voice firm. “Unless you know about some long lost sibling of mine that I don’t.”

She laughs, the sound a little hysterical. The joke falls flat.

“But, Ae, you love the farm,” Connall interjects lamely. “You’re really going to sell it?”

The sound that escapes Manon this time is hateful. Silently, she turns and walks away from the group with her horse, tossing her platinum ponytail over her shoulder to express her dissatisfaction. Aelin bites the inside of her cheek to suppress the wave of guilt that washes over her.

Rowan rests his hands on his hips, watching Manon retreat in silence. As her platinum blonde hair fades into the dark, he turns back to Aelin, an apology on his face. “She’s attached, but she’ll get over it.”

Aelin remembers the first time her father sold a horse that she really cared about, a mare she’d gotten really involved in rehabbing alongside Rhoe. The trailer carrying Thunder was barely off the property before her parents sat her down to explain that she and her mother would be moving—and her father wasn’t coming along.

She refused to speak to either of her parents for weeks. Aelin was too angry and broken-hearted and young to accept the depth of what was going on. She was twelve, and she’d lost her family and her favorite horse in one day.

“No, it’s okay,” Aelin assures the man. She can’t manage to meet any of their gazes for more than an instant, so she makes an excuse to leave, to run away and hide. Right. Well, if you could do me the favor of untacking my horse, I really need to go inside and make a few more calls before it gets too late back home.”

“Yeah.” “Totally.” The twins chorus together, sharing a nod. Rowan’s gaze is stone when Aelin turns to him for his approval.

“I suppose it’s what you pay me for,” he growls, making Aelin flinch at the suggestion. Another reminder that her father is gone.

Aelin turns away from the men and walks away as quickly as possible, ducking her head down to hide the tears forming in her eyes. All she has to do is clear that paint-chipped door, and then Aelin is home free. 

The twins echo her name as she flees, but Aelin refuses to look up or turn around. Instead, she darts into the empty, lonely house and shuts the door behind her fast, sliding down it to sit on the floor.

The tears have just begun to stream down her face when her cellphone rings, jolting her out of her misery. Aelin startles at the sound, but she pulls it out quickly to check the ID. Her heart clenches at sight of Isla’s name, and for the briefest of moments, she considers ignoring it, hiding her grief from her daughter, but Aelin promised never to do that with her children.

She never managed to return her father’s last call, only a matter of days ago. It’s a regret that will cling to her for a long time, she thinks.

Aelin shakes away the thought, taking a deep breath and plastering a smile on her face before answering the phone. She can only pray that the quaver in her voice doesn’t carry across the ocean and that sweet, little Isla doesn’t recognize it for what it is.

“Hey, Is. How’re you? There’s a crackle in the connection. This damn farm has always been the worst in terms of cell reception, and don’t even get Aelin started about the internet quality.

“Mom!” Isla cries. “I’ve been texting you ALL day!”

“Isla,” Aelin scolds softly, fighting back the sniffle she can feel threatening her. “You know you aren’t supposed to have your phone out at school.”

Her mom voice still catches her off guard at times; Aelin sounds so much like her mother that its shocking—horrifying. That was never supposed to happen.

“ _Mom_ ,” Isla drags out her name.

“ _Isla_ ,” Aelin copies her daughter. The giggle that breaks free of her daughter brings a smile to her face, chases away the cloud of gloom that’s been following Aelin all day. “What’s so urgent, kiddo?”

“I just wanted to know if you’d be back in time for the parent night at school,” the eight-year-old tells her. Aelin’s stomach falls as her daughter rambles on. “Each of us had to make something, and I painted a picture!”

“Oh, uh,” Aelin stammers, searching for the words. “Baby, I think we’re going to have to miss that. You and Grandma are flying out here to join me on Friday.”

Aelin holds her breath, waiting for Isla’s disappointment; she prepares herself for the outrage and betrayal. Aelin knows exactly how she would have reacted when she was eight were her mother tell her such a thing.

“I’m coming to Terrasen?” The excitement in her daughter’s voice shocks Aelin. “I’m going to see the farm!?”

“Yeah, Is. I suppose you will.” Aelin’s explained Rhoe’s death to Isla, of course, but death is a tricky subject for young children. It’s even harder for one to grasp the idea of never again seeing a man she’s barely ever seen in the first place.

Guilt and grief slap Aelin in the face. She can’t believe she failed them both so dearly. The lack of connection between Isla and her grandfather is Aelin’s fault, more than anyone else’s. If she hadn’t chosen to be so distant, if she hadn’t always put him off, Isla would have had more time with her grandfather. Aelin would’ve had more time with her father.

There was always supposed to be “another time.”

“Can I ride a horse?” Isla begins to ramble. “I’ve never seen a horse before! Are they really big? Do they smell? What do they eat? Can we bring one back home? I’ll take care of it!”

For the very first time today, Aelin laughs. It’s healing to feel some joy amongst the grief that clouds her mind. She may not have her father anymore, but she does have Isla and her endless questions.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

It’s the dip of the mattress that startles Aelin into consciousness the following morning. She stayed up well into the night on the phone with her daughter, until the time difference demanded that Isla go to bed. Aelin, on the other hand, shuffled back into the office to sort through all the bills.

Things were bad—really bad.

“Aelin. Galathynius.” Elide Lochan’s voice drawls from above her. _Aelin Galathynius_ peeks out from under the covers to glare at her old friend, letting Elide know just how she disapproves of the wakeup call.

The brunette only grins. “I like your hair.”

“Did you really wake me up to compliment me on my hair cut?” Aelin grumbles, running her finger through the short ends. Her eyes narrow at Elide. “That definitely could have waited for a more appropriate hour.”

“Perhaps,” Elide says, shrugging her delicate shoulders. She dangles a bottle full of amber liquid in front of Aelin’s face. “Or, perhaps, I woke you up to drink.”

Aelin always liked Elide best growing up. She deals with shit in a way that very much aligns with Aelin’s way of dealing with shit. A match made in heaven if there ever was one; Aelin is happy that Elide chooses to put up with her shit.

“So,” Elide’s begins in a chipper voice that is just downright inhumane at this hour. “We’ve got some catching up to do. Hm, let me think.” Her boots thump against the floorboards as Elide shucks them off to climb into the bed with her. Aelin would mumble a protest about tracking dirt into the house, but she’s too busy popping open the liquor bottle to bother.

“Let’s start with the family,” Elide decides, snuggling into the covers beside Aelin. According to the clock on the wall, it’s about noon, but Aelin is also reasonably certain that the clock also read 12:00 last night when she went to bed. Odds are, the battery is dead.

“Yeah,” Aelin hisses at the bite of the drink. Elide brought the good stuff. “Isla. She’s eight and way fucking smarter than me.”

Her old friend laughs at that. “My mother always told us we’d pay for our childhoods. Why do you think I’m still childless?”

“Because you’re just so damn ugly,” Aelin explains. Elide wastes no time in punching her in the arm; Aelin chokes on her laugh. The small woman packs one hell of a punch. “Shit—Ow, El.”

“Don't be a tit, and I won’t have to hit you,” the brunette informs her, taking the bottle away from Aelin and throwing back a generous “sip.” “So, where’s this kid of yours at?”

“Back home in Varese,” Aelin says morosely. She misses her daughter so badly that it causes a physical ache in her chest; it’s for the best that she stayed behind, but Aelin _misses_ Isla. “School and shit. She and Mom will be here at the end of the week.”

Bless her mother for being willing to take an eight-year-old on an intercontinental flight.

“Poor kid,” Elide laments, and Aelin laughs at that. Evalin Galathynius ran a tight ship when they were younger; it was something of a running joke amongst all of her friends.

“Hardly,” Aelin says with a grin. “That kid is probably eating Sour Patch Kids for breakfast right now.” She feels around under the covers for her phone, wanting to check the time and confirm her suspicions about the clock. “Becoming a grandmother totally ruined my super strict mother.”

“No, shit. Man, I’d pay to see that,” Elide laughs into the neck of the bottle, making it whistle. Aelin finds her phone underneath her butt—typical.

“Yeah, well, you won’t have to pay a cent,” Aelin muses, checking her notifications. She confirms that the clock is in fact broken and that she and her oldest friend are drinking at ten o’clock in the morning.

“Although, maybe I should charge; this place sure as hell could use the income,” Aelin remarks bitterly, recalling all the overdue bills in the other room.

“That bad, huh?” Elide asks, setting the bottle on the bedside table. She turns to face Aelin, and the blonde does the same, nestling into the covers to face her better. The women stare at each other.

“Worse.” There wasn’t a bill on that table more than a month overdue. It’s a wonder that the lights are even on in this place; Aelin doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do other than liquidate the assets— if there are even any with value.

Elide, of course, is more than capable of reading between the lines. Aelin waits as the closest thing to a best friend she's ever had processes everything that Aelin is and isn’t saying. Coming to her decision, Elide rolls over and reaches for the bottle.

“I think we need some more to drink,” Elide decides, and Aelin snickers.

They share the bottle back and forth. Aelin pretends not to notice as Elide’s brown eyes pick apart Aelin’s guarded exterior like the expert she is. They were really close before Aelin shut this part of her life out. _Super close._

“And Mr. Perfect?” The brunette asks, at last, her tone suspiciously innocent.

Aelin fails at trying not to flinch. “He won’t be coming.”

“Fuck him,” is Elide’s curt reply.

Aelin barks a laugh. “I’ll drink to that!”

Elide offers Aelin the bottle, and the blonde accepts it readily, guzzling a little more than she should. Oh well. Her life is shit right now, and her kid is safely under the care of her grandmother. Aelin can be a little irresponsible right now.

*

“Gods, I don’t know how you people live out here in the middle of nowhere!” Aelin yells over her shoulder as she digs through the cupboards of the kitchen. “How do you guys survive without _delivery?”_

“Well, for starters, most people go out and buy groceries,” Elide explains the matter to Aelin as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. It kind of is. “And then the rest of us mere mortals drive to town and eat at a restaurant.”

“We’re both far too drunk to drive anywhere,” Aelin bemoans, flopping into a chair at the kitchen table. With everything going on, Aelin’s been in a state of mind to be concerned about eating, but Drunk Aelin is starving. The lack of food has only served to make her drunker.

Elide’s eyes remain trained on her phone as she speaks, “Fear not, Ace of Spades. I’m calling in some backup.”

“My hero,” Aelin sings, clutching her hands in front of her. The women laugh, and Aelin checks her own phone. Isla’s only texted about a dozen horse-related questions, and there’s a message from her mother, too.

 **How are you doing, Fireheart?** Her mother’s message reads. Tears prick her eyes, but the drink helps to keep them at bay.

 **Drunk, but OK.** Aelin replies, including a few thumbs up. She doesn’t want her mother to worry.

Her mother responds right away. **It’s not even 1.** The bubbles tell Aelin there’s more. **Do you need me to fly in early?**

“Whitethorn! I’m fucking starving; you got any food?” Elide speaks far too loudly into her cell as if the alcohol has damaged her hearing. “What do you mean I sound drunk? I’d never drink this early in the day!” The woman frowns. “Well, fuck you. Now, I’m not sharing.”

 **Someone is bringing food!** Aelin informs her mother of the events unfolding. **I will see you Friday! LUV U. <3 <3 <3**

 **I love you, too, baby. See you soon.** Her mother answers. Aelin thinks that’s a good end to the conversation. She refocuses on Elide’s one-sided conversation.

“No, fuck that. I’m here at the farm. Yes, I am. Why would I ever lie to you?” Elide pouts, overly animated while drunk. Aelin snickers, watching with rapt attention; she’d forgotten how funny her friend was inebriated. “Look—if you don’t feed us, we’ll die. We. Will. Die. Die! Did you hear me?”

A longer pause. A smile creeps onto Elide’s face. “Yes! Remind me to fix that trailer for you when I’m sober. Well, if you let me die, your stupid POS trailer would never get fixed. Yeah, yeah. Whatever. See you soon, _my love_!”

“WAIT!” Aelin explodes, connecting Elide’s words. “Whitethorn? Like _Rowan Whitethorn_?” Aelin is far too drunk for this information. “You’re dating that guy?”

Elide laughs at her friend’s horrified expression. “Hardly. I only call him that because it makes him excruciatingly uncomfortable. You _know_ he’s not my type.”

“And just what is your type?” Aelin asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Elide rolls her eyes, but red starts to color the tops of her cheekbones. Aelin smells a secret. And it’s _crush related._

“Not. Rowan.” Elide’s words are careful, but the message to back off is clear. Aelin decides to table that discussion for later.

She sighs. “Rowan hates me. He’s going to judge me for being drunk before noon. Shit, everything is such a mess.”

“Why would Rowan hate you?” Elide asks. Understanding breaks out on her face a moment later. “Yeah, okay. That does suck, but he’s been putting up with my shit for years, so he’ll just blame this all on me.”

Aelin doesn’t know if that actually makes her feel better or not. She decides to lean into the excuse; Drunk Aelin can be a crier sometimes. Nobody wants that. 

“Anyway, that loser is home, but at least that means the food will be here soon!” Elide props her feet up on the table indifferently, and Aelin rolls her eyes at her. Evalin would lose her mind at the sight. “He demanded that we not go anywhere. Absolutely _no driving_ , which, like, shit. That’s why I called, right?”

“I still think he hates me,” Aelin grumbles, feeling down. “And that Manon girl—Phew, we are not going to be friends any time soon.”

Elide looks surprised by the mention of Manon. “Give her a chance, Ae. Hell, give both of them one.”

Aelin raises a brow. Elide explains, “Those two are tough, for sure. They both have a real talent for pissing people off, but they also happen to be two of the most loyal people on the planet,” she says thoughtfully. Elide pouts when she lifts the liquor bottle and finds it empty. “They’re good people.”

“Well, if they worked for my father, I’d expect nothing less,” Aelin says offhandedly. Elide stills at the mention of Rhoe. Until now, she’s spent most of the morning tactfully avoiding any mention of Aelin’s father, but the elephant in the room manages to rear its ugly head anyway.

“I miss him,” Aelin admits aloud, her voice soft. Elide’s eyes shine much like her own. “Which is weird because I feel like he’s about to walk through the door and tell me to muck out the stalls any second now.”

Her friend snorts, but Elide’s smile is watery. “Rhoe never was much of a believer in vacations, huh?”

“No,” Aelin laughs, reminiscing. “Even a day off caused him pain. It always hurt him tolerable the farm and fly to Wendlyn, which is why he so rarely did. That’s why we started meeting in Rifthold—two birds, one stone. And it was easier for him to take a weekend.”

A sniffle escapes her. “But, I’ve only been here for, like, less than a day, and I can already see why.”

“So…” Elide taps out a rhythm against the brace on her foot. Aelin’s friend used to be a jockey until an accident put her in that brace and out of work. Aelin isn’t entirely sure what it is that Elide is doing these days to make ends meet.

“What’re you gonna do?” Elide asks, interrupting Aelin’s guilt.

“El…” Aelin’s breath escapes her all at once. Her mind scrambles for the words. “I have no fucking idea.”

They definitely need some more to drink for her to continue this conversation. Aelin needs to go back upstairs and tackle the bills, but she’s not in any state to do so now.

“All I know is that I can’t run a farm from the other side of the ocean,” Aelin says in defeat. “It kills me to even think about selling it; you know how much this place meant to my dad, means to me, but—what else is there for me to do?”

“I definitely don’t envy you,” Elide attempts to say lightheartedly.

Aelin’s smile is small, but she is finding some relief in having someone to talk to that isn’t an employee of the farm or her mother. Elide has no stake in selling the ranch—other than Aelin’s happiness.

“Fuck. Even if I wanted to keep the place, even if I packed my whole miserable life back in Wendlyn up and moved Isla over her to live—what the hell would that even look like? This isn’t some movie where the big city girl returns to her roots, saves the farm, and everyone is happy. This is so not that.”

“Of course not,” Elide concurs, much to Aelin’s surprise. She was kind of banking on a hype man, she realizes. “In all the good Hallmark movies, a hot guy in flannel sweeps the city girl off of her feet. There aren’t that many attractive people in Orynth. Fewer men, too.”

Aelin rolls her eyes, but she plays along. “Who said it had to be a guy?”

Elide beams with the news. “Aelin Galathynius, did you just say what I think you said?”

“Like it’s a secret,” Aelin defends, but her friend is already rambling off names. Most of which are female.

“Oh! Oh!” Elide snaps her fingers. “Asterin is so fucking hot. You should meet her. She can, like, be your hot rom-com love interest! I’m so here for this. I need to make another call—”

“Let’s wait until we sober up to call any more people.” Aelin has the sense of mind to interject. Elide pouts, but she sets her phone back down. “The point is, though, that I have yet to even take a really good look at the state of things. I have barely cracked the surface, but I can tell this place is just—hemorrhaging money.

“Literally, everything I’ve looked at is in red,” Aelin continues, growing more and more frustrated. “I mean, I don’t even know how my father was paying people to work here. Or himself? Fuck, how was he even eating?”

Aelin scoffs, feeling more than a little irritated. “No, there’s no way to save this place, not other than selling it to someone with the money to afford everything. My mother always said that people don’t get into horses to make money.”

She rests her elbows on the table for a moment, covering her face with her hands. Everything is so fucking messed up. Afterward, Aelin slaps her hand on the table, and Elide waits patiently for her friend to process things.

“I just don’t know what I’m missing. I don’t know how my dad could have possibly let things get like this. Or how he never bothered to mention it all to us—to me.” She groans, tugging at her short hair in frustration. “I have to go to the bank tomorrow to see just how bad everything is really looking.”

Elide sucks in a breath in solidarity. Aelin smiles bitterly. “Yeah, it’s definitely not something I’m looking forward to.”

“Want me to come with you?” Elide offers.

“No, don’t worry about it.” Aelin is reminded once more just how lucky she is to have Elide in her life. “No, I think that is one disaster that I’m going to need to tackle on my own. Thanks, though.”

Elide shrugs like it's no big deal to her, but Aelin knows better. She can see the tightness of her friend’s eyes, the tension in Elide’s shoulders. She wants to be able to help; there just isn’t a way for her friend to do so, other than tripping over a pile of free money.

A knock at the door interrupts them.

“I got it!” Elide exclaims despite sitting directly across from Aelin.

Aelin flinches, having had her buzz killed by the serious discussion, but she can’t help the smile that stretches across her face as Elide darts out of the kitchen, reinvigorated by the promise of food. She moves quickly for a girl in a leg brace.

Aelin laughs to herself, gathering the pitcher of water in the decrepit fridge and some glasses. By the time she makes it to the living room, Elide has already answered the door, cheering in excitement. She and Isla would get along well, Aelin thinks.

“Help has arrived,” Rowan announces as he enters the foyer, laughing as Elide gestures eagerly for him to hand over the food, bouncing from one foot to the other. Aelin meets Rowan’s eye over the top of the shorter woman’s head, finding common ground in their fondness for Elide.

The woman in question takes the food greedily from Rowan’s hands; it’s clear he’s trying to hide his amusement, but drunk Elide is very, very entertaining. “ _Whitethorn!_ I could fuck you all over again, but you know, been there, done that.”

Aelin chokes on the drink she was sipping in surprise; Elide looks absolutely delighted by her reaction, but Rowan seems prepared to fight if necessary. Aelin blushes. “S-sorry. I was so not prepared for that to come out of her mouth.”

“Ace! Don’t get shy on me now!” Elide scolds, reaching into the bag of food that’s been provided to dig out a couple of sandwiches. 

She tosses one immediately to Aelin, who drunkenly lets the wrapped food hit her in the face. Rowan smirks at that, and Elide cackles, handing Rowan a sandwich of his own. 

“Not your type, huh?” Aelin echoes their earlier conversation.

Elide snorts. “To settle down with? No. For a quick bang? Why not?”

Rowan tries not to look offended. “Thanks, El. It’s mutual.”

*

The three of them settle in the living room, eating in mostly comfortable silence. Elide fills the awkward moments with commentary, too drunk to have any kind of filter. Aelin forgot how much she loved this woman.

“Well, I’ve got to get back to work,” Rowan tells them as he finishes his meal. “But I packed some extra food for you two for later, and if you keep digging, I left an early birthday present in there for you, El.”

As if on cue, Elide whips out a bottle of whiskey. “Now, that’s what I’m _talking_ about!”

A bolt of possessiveness strikes Aelin as the sound of Rowan using her childhood nickname for Elide. It’s always been Aelin’s thing; tough girl Elide never let anyone else call her by the nickname. Only Aelin. She tamps down on the jealousy and makes herself comfortable on the worn sofa. A full stomach has made her tired.

“Thank you,” Aelin tells Rowan quietly from her place. Rowan shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude.

“Yeah, thanks,” Elide echoes, working on opening the bottle of whiskey. She shoots Aelin a sly look and then adds, “By the way, I like your _flannel._ ”

Aelin considers murdering Elide.

“Thanks,” he says, oblivious to Elide and Aelin’s silent conversation. “Well, I’ll stop by later to check that you guys are still alive.” Rowan starts to retreat. “Bye.”

Elide cheers when she manages to open the bottle, drinking deeply from it; Aelin considers telling her to slow down, but her friend just looks so happy. Aelin doesn’t want to bring anyone down, but she does refuse a drink of her own.

The brunette looks shocked. “Since when do you turn down a drink?”

Aelin cracks a smile. “Since I have to meet with the bank tomorrow morning, and I’d like to at least appear somewhat like an adult.”

Elide shrugs, takes another sip. “Suit yourself.”

*

By the time Aelin spots Rowan’s form coming up the drive, the sun has set entirely behind the mountain range. The February air is crisp and cold, only made chillier by the return of the moon, and the farm is quiet outside, everyone tucked in for the evening.

Aelin starts a fire to battle the cold and gets set up at the coffee table to sort through some paperwork. She meant to search for a will today, but the whiskey and Elide got in the way. She’ll have to look tomorrow, but if luck is on her side, the bank will have it.

Elide sleeps off that second bottle of whiskey in the armchair opposite Aelin. The steady rise and fall of her friend's chest lets Aelin know that the woman is still breathing, but the blonde wonders if she should worry about all the alcohol Elide consumed today.

She’s still watching Elide when Rowan peeks his head in the front door, a silent way of asking permission to enter. Aelin waves him in, pressing one finger to her lips in warning to be quiet.

“I see you survived,” Rowan observes quietly, creeping into the living room. A rush of emotions hits Aelin when he grabs the nearest throw blanket and tosses it over Elide, tucking her in. _El_ , he’d called her. They have to be close.

“Yup, another day in paradise.” Aelin’s voice is a little bitter after her latest passthrough of the books. Everything is in the red. _Everything_.

“It sure is.” Something in Rowan’s voice tells Aelin that he actually believes that the farm is paradise; she doesn’t have the heart to call him a fool for such an idea.

“Well.” Rowan steps away from Elide, eyeing Aelin’s spot on the floor. He runs his hand through his hair, ruffling the messy hair more. “If you need anything, I’m just across the way.”

Aelin has no idea what that means, but she smiles in thanks anyway. “Thank you for checking in on us. And for the food.”

“No problem.” He pauses at the door on his way out; Aelin can tell he’s considering his next words carefully. She holds her breath in wait. “Have a good night.”

They both know that wasn’t what Rowan was going to say; he must have reconsidered it at the last minute. Aelin bids him goodnight as well, letting him off the hook. She doesn’t really know Rowan, but she does know that she doesn’t want his condolences. Coming from Rowan, someone who worked so closely with her father, someone who probably knew Rhoe better than his daughter, the words would only sting Aelin’s skin like acid.

Rowan leaves, and Aelin just barely makes out his silhouette as he crosses the property to go home. He doesn’t get in a car, which tells Aelin that he lives on the farm. Well, she knows how he got food to them so quickly, at least.

Aelin only manages to stare at the spreadsheets for a few more minutes after he leaves. All of the red numbers cause her blood pressure to rise, makes her feel defeated and lost, so Aelin decides to head upstairs to get some sleep. The appointment with the bank is early, and she’s not even close to adjusting to the time change yet.

She decides to leave Elide in the living room; Aelin’s sole attempt to rouse her friend earned the blonde a few choice words. So, if Elide is sore in the morning, it’s all on her, Aelin thinks. Asleep Elide is horribly rude.

As she gets ready for bed, Aelin muses over what she’ll uncover tomorrow. Hopefully, she’ll have a better picture of just what it’ll take to save the farm, and Aelin will be able to go from there.

The thought gives her pause. Aelin stares curiously at her reflection, toothbrush still hanging from her mouth. Did Aelin want to save the farm? 

Of course, she did. Aelin loves this dreadful place, and when she sells it, she’ll hate to see it go. A piece of her heart will go with it. But, it’s not like she could run it from another country; keeping Galathynius Farms was never an option on the table.

Yet, Aelin doesn’t want to see it picked apart by vultures either. She’d be happiest if she could find someone who shared her family’s vision to buy it, someone that would love this place as much as her father did.

Still, as she curls underneath the pink-toned quilt of her childhood, there’s an optimistic part of Aelin praying that the bank will have much better news than she’s expecting. Maybe they’ll even have a miracle. The stronger, bitter part of Aelin quickly tells the optimistic side to shut the hell up.

The farm is a lost cause, and Aelin just needs to accept that.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

“So, what you’re saying, basically, is that there isn’t anything.” Aelin delivers the summation with a stone-cold face. She thinks her mother would be proud of her right now, were she to see just how well Aelin was handling the situation.

Gods, did she want to punch this guy in his fucking face. He’s a total ass; Aelin wishes she’d spent the day on the farm rather than wasting her time driving into the city for such shit news.

“Less than anything, baby.” Aelin’s hackles rise at the name. Part of her wants to write it off as a country thing, but they’re in the heart of the city right now, and Aelin is intuitive enough to know that the country has nothing to do with this guy’s attitude.

“Aelin,” she corrects, polite but firm.

“Of course.” He barely hears her.

“Okay then, Mr…” She scans his desk for a nameplate, finds it. “Hamel.”

“Now, now. Please call me Arobynn. We’re friends now, dear.” The older man flashes her a smile with too many teeth, and Aelin struggles to return it. Her hand curls into a fist underneath her coat as she struggles not to slap the man. Assaulting this banker definitely won’t help her cause.

“Arobynn,” she grits through her teeth. It tastes like ash on her tongue. “If we could just push all of this paperwork along, I think I can handle the rest of it on my own.”

Aelin is very, very thankful for the internet right now.

 _Arobynn_ nods in agreement. “And when can we expect payment?” He asks casually, typing away at the computer. Aelin suspects he isn’t actually typing anything.

“Payment?” she asks, dread pooling in the bottom of her stomach.

“For the loan,” Arobynn explains so kindly that she hates him. No one’s voice should be that sweet while delivering such terrible news. “Your father had a credit line borrowing against the value of the farm. It’s overdue.”

Aelin tries to resist the urge to flinch, but she fails. It feels as if the banker has just slapped her across the face. It takes her a minute before she’s able to form a response. “Mr. Hamel— _Arobynn_. I’ve only been in town for a few days. When I figure out the state of everything, the bank will be the first to know.”

“The property is on the brink of foreclosure, Mrs. Galathynius.”

The news is a physical blow; she feels it deep, deep down in her soul. It crushes her, breaks all of her bones. Aelin has scanned most of the paperwork over the course of the last two days, in-between bouts of anger and crying; she knew the bills were overdue, but Aelin didn’t realize just how behind they were.

She thinks that if Arobynn Hammel says anything else to her, she’ll start to lose the last few shreds of togetherness that she has. Aelin does not want to fall apart in this bank. In front of all these strangers. 

If the banker does say anything else, Aelin doesn’t hear him as she rises from the chair and makes to leave the office. She barely feels the box in her hands, the contents of her father’s safety deposit box—no will in sight. That’s okay, though. Aelin is his next of kin; she gets everything by default. Yet, she was hoping for some kind of guidance while planning her father’s—

The funeral.

She trips and just barely recovers. It’s time to leave.

“Have a nice day, Mr. Hammel,” Aelin says on autopilot.

“Miss Aelin! _Honey!_ ” Arobynn Hammel calls after her. “We need an answer!”

*

The ride home is full of hot, angry tears and blame. Aelin’s just so _mad._

She’s mad at the bank for taking advantage of Rhoe and for allowing him to borrow beyond his means, at her mother for taking her away from the farm in the first place and for leaving her dad all alone, at Elide and Fenrys and Connall and anyone else that never bothered to just _say something to her._

Hell, she’s mad at the stupid fucking car in front of her, driving at a snail’s pace, and don’t even get Aelin started about how upset she is with herself, for not seeing all of the signs sooner. She should have noticed, should have done something, should have been here.

Most of all, Aelin is mad at Rhoe himself for having the nerve to fall off some fucking horse and _die._

A sob chokes its way from her at the sudden, unbidden thought. It’s the first time that Aelin’s really thought the words, and she definitely hasn’t had the courage to say them out loud to anyone yet. Her mother had to help her explain things to Isla because Aelin hadn’t been able to form the words herself. 

Aelin’s vision is too blurred with bitter, angry tears to see what exactly happens next. There’s the distinctive, terrifying sound of a tire blowing, and then Aelin finds herself coaxing her rental car off the road and into the grass. It’s a wonder she doesn’t crash into something. Small mercies.

The offensively slow car disappears into the distance, and Aelin gets out of the car to investigate. She isn’t surprised by what she finds.

Logically, Aelin knows that she should get back into the car and call someone; instead, though, she welcomes the flood of tears that return. The adrenaline of losing the tire fades from her veins, no longer keeping the tears at bay.

She stays there, kneeling in the dirt and crying in the cold. Her tears sting her cheeks. Aelin’s never really thought of herself as much of a crier, not in her adult life anyway, but the last few days have managed to change her opinion on the topic. They’ve been nothing but filled with tears. And grief.

The sound of a truck rolling up reminds Aelin where she is: in the dirt on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. She rises quickly to her feet and wipes at the tears on her face, trying to hide her shame. She’s starting to think that her eyes are always going to be this red and puffy. What a look.

Rowan Whitethorn surprises her by getting out of the truck. Worry lines his face, and when he recognizes Aelin standing there, covered in dust, the wrinkles in his forehead only deepen. Aelin can’t tell if she should be offended or not.

He’s wearing more flannel today, Aelin notes, repressing the urge to roll her eyes. She shouldn’t day-drink anymore. Of all the people to surreptitiously come to her rescue, it just had to be him.

“You alright?” Rowan asks as he approaches.

“That’s a loaded question,” Aelin quips, masking her hoarse voice with humor. Wisecracks have always been something of a coping mechanism for her.

Rowan takes one look at the tire and another at her. She notices that his lips twitch, battling off a smile in the serious moment; it pleases her somehow. He nods towards the truck. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Go?” She blinks at him, confused.

He finally smirks at her, and Aelin can’t stop the thought that she thinks the expression suits him a little too well. He says, “Unless you’re planning on walking from here?”

“No! Definitely not.” Aelin replies too quickly, earning the ghost of a laugh. She heads back towards the car for her belongings. Rowan waits over her shoulder to take the box from her, and Aelin passes it his way, smiling in thanks.

Rowan’s brow furrows again, looking at the box. It must be a signature look of his, Aelin thinks. “What’s all of this?” he asks.

“My father always was something of a hoarder; apparently, that didn’t change when it came to bank boxes.” Rowan’s face is fond at the mention of Rhoe and his gathering tendencies as if he’s acutely familiar with it. He probably is.

Aelin still thinks it’s weird, though, speaking about her father in the past tense. She clears her throat uncomfortably and follows him.

“I bet that was a productive morning.” Rowan muses, leading the way towards his truck.

Aelin snorts much to his amusement. “I swear he owned the biggest box there.”

Rowan chuckles. Then he nods in the direction of the abandoned vehicle. “I’ll call someone about that, but for now, we’ll just head back to the farm. It’s looking like a storm is coming. We’re overdue for some more snow.”

Aelin chances a glance at the sky. Dark clouds hang heavily over the mountains, threatening to come their way. The sight has her moving for Rowan’s truck just a little more quickly.

*

Rowan makes the call as promised, and then they get moving. The radio is playing country music both to Aelin’s horror and amusement. She didn’t peg Rowan for a country-twang sort of guy, but as she watches him nod his head to the tune, she thinks it does sort of fit him.

Aelin grew out of her country phase a long time ago, when her mother packed their bags for Wendlyn and the urban world of Varese. She clung to her roots for a while, got made fun of for wearing cowboy boots and for saying y’all, but eventually, she succumbed to the peer pressure, to the desire to fit in with her peers. Now she gets to wear cowboy boots because they’re trendy.

Regardless, she’s too polite to complain about the music, especially considering that Rowan just picked her up off the side of the road. Rowan surprises her when he starts to sing along softly to it, under his breath, almost like he doesn’t realize it. Aelin’s more surprised to find comfort in the sound of his voice.

“My father took a lien out on the land, to help make ends meet,” Aelin admits after a while, her voice hoarse. She hates to break the silence, but she needs to tell _someone_. Rowan seems like the right guy; though, she hates herself for burdening him. “Except it was more than the ends not meeting; they were frayed, falling apart. A disaster.”

Rowan stops singing as she speaks. Aelin doesn’t know when the tears started to fall again; she sniffles loudly and unattractively. For not the first time, Aelin finds herself feeling self-conscious about her appearance in front of the very attractive man in the driver’s seat. She kind of hates him; Aelin is willing to bet he just wakes up just looking like that.

“I’m going to lose the farm.” Aelin wipes desperately at her face, but she knows it’s already too late and that her mascara is already running down her cheeks. She’s allergic to the waterproof stuff because the world clearly hates her. “There’s no selling it—the bank basically already owns everything. Mr. Hamel— _Arobynn_ probably already has the foreclosure sign printed.”

“The guy is such a fucking asshole,” Rowan growls, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “When I went to settle my mother’s affairs, he kept making references to my mother’s “ _extracurricular activities_.” Like, just fucking say it to my face: my mother had a drug problem and spent all our money on it.”

Aelin gapes like a fish. She definitely wasn’t expecting that tidbit of information; Rowan doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to talk about his personal life with someone he barely knows, but maybe the crying and looking like a horror show makes a difference. Makes her less threatening.

“Jockey,” he explains. It’s an unspoken fact that the racing world is rife with drugs. Both in the horses and their riders. “She raced for a while out West, until she got pregnant.

“I’m so—”

“Don’t,” Rowan cuts her off, flexing his grip on the steering wheel. He keeps his eyes trained on the road, and his jaw clenches. Maybe he regrets sharing with her after all. “You didn’t know her, and you only just met me. Besides, you’ve got your own shit to worry about.”

Aelin sucks in a breath. There isn’t much else to say to that. They ride along in silence from that point, heading back to the farm. Aelin regains control of her tear ducts and uses the mirror to survey the damage to her makeup. She’s definitely looked better. Worse, too.

As they pass under the archway reading GALATHYNIUS FARMS, Aelin takes a minute to admire her old home. Even after growing up here, and despite the wear and tear, Aelin still finds the property amazing. Beautiful.

Given the time of day, many of the horses are out, grazing happily in the sun and enjoying themselves. Aelin watches as a horse materializes at the fence line, racing alongside them and matching the vehicle's speed with ease.

“He’s amazing,” Aelin thinks aloud, admiring the bay colt. She recognizes the horse, vaguely, as the one that escaped the night she arrived. It’s the gate opener, Kingsflame.

Rowan glances out her window, snorting without amusement. “He’s a real piece of work, is what he is,” Rowan complains grouchily. “I did not turn that horse out this morning.”

Aelin has to laugh at the disapproval in his voice, nothing more than an impatient parent. “Seems like he was ready to go outside.”

The truck parks as they near the main part of the barn. Rowan nods to a pen with its gate hanging open. “It looks like King learned to open another gate.”

“Smart horse,” Aelin observes, amusement tainting her voice. It’s bad, of course, for a horse to let themselves out like that and run wild, but she can’t help but credit his intelligence. These horses are so much smarter than anyone gives them credit for.

Rowan makes a sound that says he disagrees. 

“He let anybody else out?” Aelin asks, looking around for another stray horse.

“No.” Rowan sighs, grabbing what he needs to wrangle the horse. “He’s having trouble making friends; he wants to pick on everyone.”

“Ah,” Aelin says. Things are making more sense to her by the minute. “A typical thoroughbred. Need any help bringing him in?”

Rowan looks put out by the offer; Aelin struggles not to let it bother her. She just offered to help. “Don’t worry about it, Princess. It’s just one stubborn horse.”

Aelin’s first instinct is to argue back, but instead, she bites her tongue. She watches Rowan’s retreating figure as he jogs back the way they saw Kingsflame; that horse is going to be a problem, Aelin thinks, even if she does find his sass amusing.

*

Aelin lugs the box of stuff into the house, setting up a workstation at the kitchen table. It feels too weird to work in the office. This will have to do.

She spends a while battling with the fickle internet and wondering if Rowan managed to catch up with Kingsflame. No one comes to give her an update or to reveal another crisis, so she supposes everything must have gone okay. Aelin can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not, that no one comes in to bother her. 

Is it that the staff are solving the problems on their own, or are they hiding the issues from her, afraid to reveal another reason to sell the farm?

Aelin takes a break when Isla calls before her bedtime. It’s still the afternoon in Orynth, but the sun is setting quickly bringing even colder weather.

“Tell your grandma to pack warm clothes,” Aelin tells Isla. Little does the mother realize that she’s opened another floodgate of horse-related questions. _How do horses stay warm? Do they sleep outside? Do they have blankets? Can I sleep in the stables, too?_

She answers them all patiently, laughing at the curiosity of an eight-year-old. It definitely beats going through the farm’s books any longer. Trying to figure out how to sell her childhood home really sucks.

Part of Aelin worries about what will happen when she brings Isla here. The rest of her worries about telling her daughter that they aren’t keeping the farm, that they’re going to have to sell it to someone else, that Isla isn’t going to get to keep the horses. She hopes Isla doesn’t grow attached too quickly.

Eventually, her mother steals the phone from Isla, scolding Aelin about keeping her own daughter up so late. The woman finds it all very ironic, but she also knows that her mother and daughter will be getting on a very early flight soon. Aelin apologizes and lets them go. 

There’s a knock on the door not long after Aelin hangs up. She’s just washed her face and changed into pajamas, and Aelin is not ashamed to admit that she considers ignoring the person at her door in favor of going to bed early. It’s been a really emotional day.

Aelin has one foot on the stairs when a voice calls. Who it is, surprises her.

“It’s me—Rowan.” The voice announces ineloquently. There’s an awkward huff of breath as if he’s making fun of himself. “I brought you some—Elide tells me you don’t grocery shop.”

Aelin finds herself biting back an unexpected smile. She retreats from the stairs and heads for the door, swinging it open with a sly smile. “Well, King and I took a ride down to the store earlier, but thanks, anyway.”

Rowan raises one unimpressed brow. “I’d be impressed if you managed to even get a saddle on that horse, much less ride him.”

“Hey!” Aelin barks, insulted. “I know how to saddle a horse. I did grow up here.”

It’s Rowan’s turn to smile slyly. “That’s not what I meant, Princess; Rhoe always said you were a great rider, uh—can I?”

He gestures towards the inside of the house, asking to be let in. Aelin feels weird about letting this utter stranger into the house when she’s dressed in her PJs, but she figures he did save her ass this morning.

“Yeah, sure.” She holds the door wide for him, closes it quickly to shut out the cold. Snow has begun to fall, and although she knows logically that the horses are taken care of, Isla’s concerns are fresh in her mind. Aelin wants to go check on them.

Rowan passes by her and into the kitchen without explanation. Aelin trails after him, watching with no small amount of interest as he goes about putting away the food he’s brought into the correct cabinets. Aelin could barely find tea this morning to relieve her aching hangover, but Rowan knows _exactly_ where the peanut butter goes.

“It’s King, I’m talking about,” Rowan continues their discussion, oblivious to Aelin regarding him so closely. “I don’t know what the hell happened to that horse, but it was clearly not right.”

Remorse hits her heart. Aelin hates to hear stories like that. “Poor guy.”

“I just wish I could hunt down whatever asshole mistreated him and give them a piece of my mind,” he says. Aelin has a feeling it would be more of an argument than a discussion if the way Rowan’s face hardens is any indication.

“Manon,” Aelin says, thinking of the cold fury in the woman’s eyes. “She said that Dad rescued King and a few other horses from a farm. Are they as bad as King? The others, I mean?”

“Hardly. Either they weren’t the focus, or they hadn’t been there as long as Kingsflame. He must have taken the brunt of it. He’s distrusting; Rhoe was the only one he ever—”

Rowan stops mid-sentence. Aelin assumes it's for her behalf, to save her some misery at hearing about her father, but the sudden stiffness of the man’s shoulders and the amount of time that Rowan remains silent implies that it’s not just for her benefit. Rowan’s lost someone dear to him, too.

“You were close to him? To my dad?” Aelin asks gently. Her voice is so small that it hurts.

She has every intention of backing off if Rowan appears the least bit defensive on the matter, but at the same time, Aelin wouldn’t mind hearing about her father from someone else.

“Yeah.” Rowan fiddles with the bag of bread, avoiding her eye. He coughs once. “Yeah, I was.”

He doesn’t go into detail, and Aelin isn’t brave enough to push for more. But it’s clear to her that Rowan and her father had a bond, were more than just a boss and his employee. They were companions. Aelin wouldn’t expect anything less from her father; he made friends everywhere he went. His pull would be even stronger here at home.

The way Rowan moves around the family kitchen is only confirmation. 

“Mac and cheese?” Aelin says, delighted and surprised at the sight of the box of processed-cheese goodness.

Rowan grins. “Rumor has it, it’s a favorite of yours.” His forehead wrinkles. “Sorry if that’s really weird to say. It’s just—he talked about you a lot. It’s kind of like I know you already.”

Aelin fights to keep her face neutral. Yes, she thinks. It is kind of weird.

“The mac and cheese anecdote was always his favorite. I never had the heart to tell the guy that he was repeating himself.” Rowan shrugs, obviously becoming a little uncomfortable the more and more he reveals. “I figured you could use some comfort food. It’s better than condolences.”

Aelin’s heart lodges itself in her throat. She nods.

“Isla loves that shit,” Aelin manages to croak, redirecting the conversation to something lighter, and Aelin loves to talk about her daughter. “I can’t imagine where she got that from,” she says drily, and Rowan laughs from the belly, surprising her. “I just wish she would eat some vegetables.”

Rowan’s eyes light up with recognition at the name. “Your daughter?” Aelin nods. “Try mixing them into the mac and cheese. The vegetables. It always worked for my cousins and I. My aunt is a very clever woman.”

Banging on the front door interrupts them. Aelin rolls her eyes and shoots her guest a look. “You guys just knock at all hours of the day, huh?”

“Well, normally we wouldn’t knock,” Rowan tells her, heading for the door. “Besides, didn’t you let me in?”

“Yeah, but that’s because you show up with food.” She says it like it’s obvious, earning another laugh.

“Fair point.”

*

Manon is tapping her foot impatiently on the other side of the door. Her golden eyes are sharp as she looks them over, likely noting Aelin’s pajamas and the time. She crosses her arms, narrowing her gaze on Rowan as if she’s just caught him doing something naughty.

Aelin’s hackles raise when Manon turns that calculating look on her. Aelin raises a brow in her direction, daring her to say something. 

“Just spit it out,” Rowan growls, impatient with her attitude.

Manon’s gaze rips away from Aelin, and Aelin finds herself relaxing. She’d never admit it aloud, but the woman’s intensity is a little unnerving. She feels like she can breathe better without those golden eyes picking her apart. Aelin can’t help but wonder if that’s how people feel about her sometimes. Yikes.

“Raindrop is in labor. Vaughan stopped by the house to tell you, and I offered to find you for him so that he could get back to her.” Manon seems to forget about her displeasure and becomes excited by the knowledge that there’s another horse on the way.

“I didn’t realize my dad was still running the breeding program,” Aelin says. She’s surprised to learn about it; the last time she met with her father, Rhoe was talking about selling off most of the broodmares.

At the time, Aelin assumed it meant he was downsizing to make things easier on himself; little did she know it was because he needed the money.

“Just a few horses a year,” Rowan explains, “It’s nothing like it used to be.”

“Wait, it’s February.” Aelin does the math, connecting the dots in her head. Horses don’t _naturally_ have babies in February. It’s something horse racing stables do, playing with nature.

She looks incredulously at Rowan. “My dad is still breeding horses to _race_?”

Rowan looks unsure about how to answer. They’re interrupted before Aelin can push for more information. 

“Well?” Manon pushes, tapping her foot impatiently. “Are we going or what?”

“Yeah.” Rowan reaches for his coat, flashing Aelin a smile. “Sorry to leave you with all those groceries to put away, but I’ve got to go.”

Aelin waves him off. “Yeah, no problem.”

Manon raises one unimpressed brow, spins on her heels, and leads the way. Rowan’s smile vanishes as he gets down to business, forgetting about Aelin and focusing on Manon.

“Did you call the vet, yet?” he asks her, catching up with her easily. 

Manon flicks her long ponytail over her shoulder. “Obviously. Do you think I’m incompetent?”

“How honestly do you want me to answer that question?” Rowan barks back, and their voices start to fade. “Because I seem to recall a certain…”

Aelin watches them as they fade away. She sighs, tugging on her short hair and thinking over what she’s just learned.

 _Great_. A pregnant mare means a foal. A foal means vet bills—more bills anyway. It’s more money the farm doesn’t have; suddenly, Aelin feels the ceiling caving in on her, the walls closing in. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do with all of this information.

“Guess I should get back to work,” Aelin mutters to herself, pushing off her plans of sleep in favor of grabbing her laptop and getting back to work. She messes around for a little while and eventually, falls asleep on the couch.

Another day in paradise.

*


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!

**CHAPTER FOUR**

The next morning, Aelin wakes up with a crick in her neck and no solution in sight. She texts her mother and asks for their attorney’s number, who, in turn, sends her the name of another attorney. The laws in Terrasen are different then Wendlyn. It makes total sense, but it’s really annoying.

Aelin decides to cure her sour mood by going outside. The weather the night before was blistering, and it seemed that a late winter snow had arrived, covering the farm in a fresh white blanket. She hoped her mother remembered to pack extra warm clothes for Isla. Varese doesn’t get cold quite like Orynth.

It’s the curiosity that leads Aelin in the direction of the birthing barn. It’s been years since she stepped foot in that rickety little space, reserved just for mares about to go into labor, but she’s actually kind of excited to see the baby. Aelin prays that everything went smoothly with the storm last night.

She finds Rowan dressed in the same clothes he left in lat night. It’s must’ve been a long night then. Aelin feels the slightest twinge of remorse at the sight of the dark marks under Rowan’s eyes. She may have slept on the couch last night, but this guy needs some sleep.

“So,” Aelin begins, announcing her presence to Rowan. He looks up with a tired smile; it’s promising. “How’s mama and baby?”

“Gav says they’re awesome,” Rowan says, surprising Aelin. She didn’t know that Gavin was still working in this area, but that was something to unpack later. The mare approaches Rowan, nosing him in the arm. He huffs a laugh, reaching out to pat her on the neck fondly. “Rainbow is the proud new mother of a healthy baby boy.”

Aelin grins, wondering how much it would freak out the man beside her if she were to burst into tears again. Instead, she bites back the tears and offers Rowan the thermos of coffee she brought along. He accepts it happily, and Aelin takes a moment to admire the horses.

“Why he’s handsome,” Aelin observes, leaving against the gate and eyeing the new little horse, a deep red chestnut, one white sock on his back left leg. The colt chooses that moment to whinny, a high-pitched squeal to get his mother’s attention back on him. It works.

Aelin has to chuckle at his spunk. “What’s his name?”

“That he is,” Rowan agrees. The man is all smiles for the little colt; it makes Aelin feel all kinds of warm to watch the grumpy Rowan Whitethorn baby talk to a horse. “As for the name, well, that’s up to you.”

“Oh,” Aelin says, surprised. Raindrop trots up to her next, nickering a hello and pushing her face into Aelin’s chest. A happy, friendly horse. “Me?”

Rowan shrugs. “I suppose he’s your horse, after all. So, you get to pick. Otherwise, Manon will name him something otherworldly and Latin.”

“Like Abraxos.” Aelin smiles.

Rowan grins. “Like Abraxos.”

They share a look for a beat or two too long; despite their first introduction being something of a disaster, Aelin thinks that Rowan probably isn’t all that bad after all.

“Mom!” A voice shouts, breaking the moment. Rowan laughs nervously, looking away from her and back towards the horses. Aelin, on the other hand, is too excited to be embarrassed; she places the voice right away.

Still, she flashes Rowan an apologetic smile before hurrying from the barn.

“ _Aelin!”_ Isla shouts again, resorting to her mother’s name. Aelin can already hear Evalin fussing at the little girl as she makes her way out of the barn and towards where they’re parked, but when Isla spots her mom, the eight-year-old shouts her name again and charges in her direction.

Isla launches herself at Aelin, and it’s only luck that keeps the two from tumbling into the snow. Aelin hugs her daughter fiercely, pressing her face into the crown of Isla’s head and breathing her in. Isla doesn’t seem to mind; she nuzzles her face into Aelin’s neck and hugs her tight.

Gods, Aelin’s missed this kid.

“Oh! I’ve missed you, you little turd.” Aelin teases, squeezing her daughter, and Isla laughs peals of joy when her mother tickles her sides.

“I’ve missed you, too!” She exclaims, but Evalin hushes her quickly.

“What did I say about all the yelling?” Aelin’s mother’s voice is firm, and even Aelin feels small and like she’s in trouble.

Isla’s voice is meek. “That it’ll scare the horses.”

“And?” Evalin prompts. Aelin shoots her mother a warning look; although, she doesn't think she’s ever seen Evalin be so disciplinary with Isla. This is new.

“And that someone could get hurt.” Isla hangs her head, frowning. She digs the toe of her sneaker into the ground and looks to Aelin. “Sorry, Mom.”

“That’s okay, Isla.” Aelin kneels at her daughter’s level, taking Isla’s hands in hers and smiling. “I know it’s pretty exciting, isn’t it?”

Isla nods.

“But your grandmother isn’t wrong,” Aelin tells her daughter. “Horses can get pretty nervous, and people can get hurt if they’re not careful. So, you have to stay calm, okay?”

“Okay,” Isla echoes. “But can I go see one now?”

Aelin laughs at her daughter. She should expect nothing less from a child that she gave life to; Aelin was utterly _obsessed_ with horses when she was younger. She doesn’t know when she stopped.

“In a little bit. Go get your bags first and take them inside,” she tells Isla. The little girl rolls her eyes, but she skips off to do as asked.

Evalin approaches her daughter next, sweeping her into a tight hug. Aelin sees the tightness in her mother’s eyes, and like Aelin, Evalin’s face has all the signs of intermittent crying. It squeezes her heart; her mother loved her father, even if they weren’t together anymore.

“How’re you holding up, baby?” her mother asks, holding out her arms and gesturing for Aelin to come to her.

“I’ll let you know just as soon as I figure it out,” Aelin tells her softly, falling into her mother’s embrace. Footsteps announce another person approaching; it’s Rowan, tentatively coming to investigate all the commotion.

The man eyes everyone carefully, probably trying to decide if he’s interrupting a moment. Yet, the softness in his eyes has all but evaporated; the guarded Rowan Aelin first met has returned. He looks at her.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, referring to the yelling.

“Yeah,” she breathes the word. “Just an excited little girl. Rowan, this is my mother, Evalin.” Aelin only releases her hold on her mother to allow the two adults to shake hands. “Mom, this is Rowan. He works here at the farm.”

“Nice to meet you,” Evalin greets him.

“Wish it were a better situation,” he grunts, Aelin watches her mother and Rowan interact, notes their stiff body language, and too polite expressions. They’re sizing each other up, it seems. Interesting.

“Right, well.” Aelin interrupts the tense silence. “I have a little girl who is very excited to meet a horse for the _very_ first time.” She turns her attention to Rowan. “I don’t suppose you have a good candidate in mind?”

Predictably, Rowan makes a show of being put out by the request. “Rose is good with everyone, but she really likes kids. She’s the mare you took out the other night.”

To hunt down the nefarious Kingsflame. Aelin nods in agreement; Rose was perhaps the calmest horse in existence. “Sounds good to me. I’m going to go up to the house and check on Isla, but we’ll come back later to make some introductions?”

Aelin doesn’t know why she adds the question mark at the end of the sentence, but she does. She doesn’t want Rowan to feel like she’s bossing him around; Aelin is surprised to realize that she doesn’t want Rowan to dislike her.

Rowan gives a curt nod. “You know where to find me.”

She watches his form retreat back towards the stables. When Aelin catches herself watching him, she turns quickly, heading up towards the house to check on her daughter. She wonders at what trouble the kid has managed to find already. Isla is Aelin’s daughter, after all.

She can practically feel her mother’s eyes burning the back of her head. Aelin glares at Evalin, snapping, “What?”

“He’s cute,” Evalin tells her daughter, matter of factly. It’s as if she’s merely commenting on the weather.

“ _Mom_ ,” Aelin gasps, horrified. “Inappropriate.”

Evalin rolls her eyes at Aelin like it’s silly of her daughter to be so perturbed by the observation. “Oh, come now. I’m just saying—he is. Is he single?”

Aelin covers her face with her hands. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. So, not the time or place; dating is the last thing on my mind right now.”

“Who said anything about _dating_?” Her mother’s smirk only grows. Like mother like daughter. “And who said I was asking for you?”

“ _Mom_!” Aelin exclaims, desperate to escape; she stomps ahead of her mother and darts up the stairs, Evalin’s laughter chasing after her.

Dating. That’s the last thing on Aelin’s mind at the moment. It couldn’t be further off her radar—even if she thinks Rowan looks pretty good in a flannel shirt. Aelin shakes her head; she’s had one hell of a time lately, and apparently, the gods weren’t yet finished with her.

Besides, if Aelin were interested, her mother would be the last one she’d seek out to talk it over with. Even if Evalin is right about one thing, Rowan is pretty cute. More than cute.

"Get yourself together, Aelin,” she scolds her, whispering under her breath.

*

Unsurprisingly, she finds her daughter has claimed Aelin's childhood bedroom. Guess Aelin will have to find somewhere else to sleep then.

Isla’s thrown her suitcase on the bed, cracking it open to reveal crumpled clothes and shoes. Evalin must have made her granddaughter pack her own luggage. A bold move.

“Everything going okay in here?” Aelin asks her daughter, watching Isla pull the balls of clothes out of her suitcase and smash them into the empty dresser.

Isla wears an expression of absolute focus. “Yeah,” Isla responds. “I picked this room because I can see the horses.”

Aelin smiles softly at her daughter. That was why she always liked this room, too. Aelin claims a spot on the bed, patting the mattress to get her daughter to join her. Isla refuses to break her concentration, determined to finish unpacking and go see the horses.

“Rowan is going to let you meet one of the horses later today.” Isla gasps, finally forgetting about the task at hand; she turns her wide Ashryver eyes on her mother. “We’ll go down to the stables after lunch, okay?”

“Can I ride it?” Isla begs, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “ _Please_?”

Aelin hates how fear grips her heart at the request; she knows that she was younger than Isla is, could barely walk, the first time her father put her into a saddle, but Aelin had her dad to keep her safe.

A fall from a horse could kill anyone—even someone as experienced as Rhoe.

“Um,” Aelin delays her answer, smiling through the fear. “How about we take it all one step at a time, okay? You might end up being afraid of the horse and change your mind.”

“Yeah, right.” Isla’s already mastered that particular tone a kid gets when they think something their parent has said is stupid. Aelin bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “I’m not afraid of _horses_.”

*

“You know you can stay here, Mom,” Aelin reminds Evalin just one more time after lunch. Her mother gives Aelin a nervous smile; it tells her that Evalin would rather stay anywhere else for the evening.

Aelin gets it; there’s a lot of memories here—for both of them. Aelin isn’t sure she’d be able to stay the night here if their positions were reversed.

“I’ll be fine at the inn,” her mother tells Aelin. “Just give me a call if you need me. I’ll come to pick you up in the morning for our appointment.”

Aelin’s heart clenches at the reminder. They have an appointment at the funeral home tomorrow. She’s happy that she’ll have her mother with her; Aelin doesn’t know what she would do without Evalin by her side.

“Okay.” Aelin notices Isla’s small figure running down from the house and in their direction. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

Evalin hugs her daughter close, smoothing Aelin’s hair before releasing her from her grasp. Aelin is struck once more with the urge to cry, but she bites back the tears as Isla stops in front of them, barely acknowledging her grandmother’s goodbye hug. Her blue eyes are determined.

“Can we go see the horses now?” she all but demands.

“That one is definitely your kid. No doubt about it.” Aelin’s mother laughs at the resolute look in her granddaughter’s eyes.

“I wonder where I got it from,” Aelin retorts. Evalin smiles innocently. She heads for her rental car with a smile; nobody seems brave enough to tackle driving Rhoe’s giant hunk of steel. The old truck looks as if it could lose its wheels at any second.

“ _Mom_.” Isla looks unamused by the teasing; she’s just as impatient as her mother. “It’s after lunch now!”

“That depends.” Aelin narrows her eyes at her daughter, and Isla’s eyes go wide at the sound of her mother’s change in tone. “Can you be calm enough not to scare them?”

“Yes!” Isla exclaims, immediately clamping a hand over her mouth and looking guilty. “Yes.” This time the little girl whispers.

Aelin shakes off her temper; she knows that Isla is only excited. Yet, Aelin wants her daughter to recognize the importance of remaining calm; were she to yell and scare one of the horses, it could endanger someone. Aelin thinks of Rowan and Manon, of Fenrys and Connall working with the horses every day. Of her father. She explains as much to Isla.

“I’ll be good,” the little girl swears, shaking with excitement. It makes Aelin smile to see her daughter so excited; she can remember being Isla’s age and living on the farm. She wishes she still felt as enthusiastic about the farm as Isla does.

Aelin takes a deep breath, releasing it in a heavy sigh. Aelin needs to remember to be careful to not channel her grief and anger into her frustrations with Isla; she’s just a little girl. It’s not her fault that any of this has happened.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you.” She offers Isla a smile.

Aelin kneels before her daughter, ruffling Isla’s curls in a playful apology. The young girl scowls at her mother, makes a show of smoothing her hair back into place; those honey-colored curls of hers are known to get a little wild sometimes. Aelin loves them. “I didn’t mean to. Shall we go see Ms. Rose now?”

“Rose?” Isla’s weight shifts to her tippy-toes, and she bounces excitedly, trying to contain all of it in her small body.

“Yep!” Aelin laughs a little at her daughter, feeding off of Isla’s positive energy. “Rose is the horse we’re going to go see.”

Aelin rises to her feet, and Isla makes to bolt ahead of her mother but stalls, realizing her mistake. Her daughter sends her a sorry look and holds out her hand, linking her fingers with her mother’s instead.

Isla follows Aelin into the stables; her little button nose wrinkles immediately at the smell. Aelin can’t help but laugh at her daughter’s befuddled expression. The offense is written clearly on the child’s face.

“It smells funny in here.” Isla pinches her nose with two fingers to protect herself; Aelin chuckles.

“I reckon it smells a heck of a lot better in here than it does back in Varese.” Rowan grins at Isla, Rose in tow behind him. Aelin notices that his face has lost the stony expression he was wearing earlier with Evalin; in fact, he looks excited, happy to show off a horse to a passionate little girl.

Rose is a pretty chill bay mare, Aelin recalls. She’s pretty convinced the horse will have no trouble with Isla’s total lack of chill with. Besides, Rowan seems to know what he’s doing; however, Aelin has discovered motherhood has created an almost irrational part of her brain forever stressed and concerned about Isla’s health and happiness. She ignores it.

“Woah…” Isla is stunned at the sight of the horse. Aelin grins. As far as horses go, Rose is pretty standard in size, maybe even a little small; Aelin wouldn’t mind seeing Isla’s reaction to one of the big stallions, like Kingsflame.

Not that Isla is allowed anywhere near that wild card. Or any of the other temperamental males. Stallions are notoriously ill-mannered. It’s not the right situation for any little girl.

Aelin can’t help but smile at Isla's eyes; they’re as round as saucers. Both adults hover, waiting for the girl to make her first move, but Aelin’s daughter is frozen in shock. The mother decides to prompt her.

“Do you wanna say hi?” she asks, nudging her daughter with an elbow.

Aelin half expects Isla to chicken out; her daughter suddenly appears smaller than ever, but Isla quickly finds her courage. The eight-year-old straightens her spine and locks her jaw with determination. Even Rowan’s lips twitch with amusement, threatening a smile.

He’s quick to give her a lesson, though, as Isla marches right up to the mare and stares Rose down. “Don’t threaten her. If you glare at her, you’ll make her nervous.”

“Oh.” Isla lets out a breath, striving to do as Rowan says. She must really want to pet this horse; Aelin doesn’t think she’s ever seen Isla listen so well.

“Now, reach out your hand.” Rowan coaxes. Rose huffs a breath, and Isla nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound. The adults share a smile.

Stubborn and frowning, Isla reaches for the mare.

“Palm up,” Rowan and Aelin say at the same time. The man sends Aelin a pleased smile that makes her laugh a little nervously; Rowan’s attention only seems to make Aelin fidgety. She doesn’t like it.

However, Isla is too focused on petting the horse to notice, much less care about, whatever’s happening with the adults. She reaches for the mare, and Rose nuzzles at Isla’s hand, mouthing at the inside of her fingers for treats.

Isla jerks her hand away quickly. Horrified, she says, “She’s trying to bite me!”

“No, Is.” Aelin’s voice is warm with amusement, aiming for calm and soothing. “She’s trying to see if you’ve brought her any treats.”

“Oh!” Isla doesn’t miss a beat. She digs in the pocket of her jacket, and Aelin is curious when her daughter pulls out something wrapped. She holds it out towards the horse. “I’ve got a cookie I can share.”

Rowan barks a laugh, while Aelin intercepts the baked goods from her daughter. Rose nickers, disappointed to miss out on the sugar. “Why don’t you save the cookie for yourself, huh? Horses aren’t supposed to eat those.”

Another whinny. Someone is clearly in disagreement.

“But I’m sure she’d love it,” Rowan says through his barely contained laughter. He brushes his hand through his silver-blonde hair. “Uh, I think we should have some carrots in the fridge around the corner. Would you like to grab a few for her?”

“Yeah!” Isla takes off, headed deeper into the stables to find the fridge. Aelin calls her name in warning, and the child halts her running immediately, tip-toeing around the corner. From one extreme to the other that kid of hers.

Aelin gives Rowan a look of apology. “Sorry,” she says, sounding exasperated. “She’s just really excited.”

Rowan only shrugs, completely unconcerned. “Well, horses are exciting. Aren’t you, Rosie?”

The horse huffs an animated breath, making Aelin smile. There’s something about hearing a stern man like Rowan call a horse by her nickname that makes Aelin feel fuzzy.

“Oh!” She exclaims when Rose takes a few steps past Rowan, headed Aelin’s way for some attention. Aelin smiles, greeting the mare with a few good scratches to the forehead. “Hey there, girl.”

“She likes you,” Rowan observes.

Aelin shoots him a grin. “That’s because I’m awesome.”

*

Aelin and Rowan take Rose outside and let her loose in a pen while they wait for Isla’s return. The mother leans against the railing, watching the mare graze, as she contemplates just how long she should give Isla before she goes looking for her.

“Uh.” Rowan hesitates, scratching along his jaw. Aelin braces for impact. He’s only said one word, but it’s clear whatever the topic is, its serious. “This is kind of awkward, but… Today is payday.”

“Oh.” It takes Aelin a moment to realize why the man is sharing this with her. She blinks. “Oh! Shit.”

“Yeah.” Rowan avoids eye contact, and Aelin covers her face with her hands, cursing her parents for only having one child. Maybe this would be easier if she had a brother or sister to share the burden with.

“With everything going on, I’d try not to bother you, but…” He grimaces, hating the conversation as much as Aelin. He rubs the back of his neck, tanned from a day in the sun. “The rest of the staff was asking.”

It becomes clear pretty quickly that Aelin is not used to being in charge. She fumbles with her words. “Shit. Yeah. I’ll get the checks ready for you all right away.”

Rowan nods stiffly, and Aelin groans as she recalls another problem. “Just as soon as I find where Dad kept all his payroll info.”

They’re both quiet. Aelin’s mind races with the news of this responsibility she hadn’t thought of. Fuck, how does someone run a horse farm? Why did her dad have to be so weird and secretive about everything? If Aelin were afraid of technology, where would she keep her payroll information? If not, with all the other paperwork in the office?

Rowan must sense her thoughts. “Rhoe kept some stuff down here in the barn office, too. He said he liked to be near the action while doing his bookkeeping.” He smiles, and Aelin bites back a snort. Rhoe wasn’t doing very much bookkeeping. “Uh, would you like me to take a look in there for you?”

“No, no,” she says, forcing a smile. Aelin would hate to burden him any more than she has. “I’ll go take a look, just as soon as I get Isla set up with her homework.”

Rowan nods. On cue, Isla skips down the pathway towards the pasture. There’s a whole bag of carrots in her hands, and it makes Aelin smile despite the nature of their current conversation. Being an adult really sucked sometimes.

“Sounds good, but—Aelin.” There’s a serious glint in Rowan’s eyes that gives her pause and makes her pay attention to him. His expression all but pleads with her to listen. “If there’s anything that I can do to help you, please, let me know. I’m here.”

“Thanks,” she chokes out, feeling emotional. Aelin is one of those people who is forever prepared to run herself into the ground in service of others, but when it comes to needing some assistance of her own, she’s always struggled with asking. Most assume it’s out of pride, but really, it’s more about Aelin not knowing how to ask.

“Carrots!” Isla declares, holding the oversized bag of root vegetables in the air like it's a trophy to be shown off. She smiles at the chuckle she earns from the adults, a crowd-pleaser.

Rowan beckons Isla over with a wave and a smile. “Alright, so here’s how you feed a horse.”


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

It’s pretty late in the evening when Aelin finally makes it out to the barn, planning to dig around in the office. She doesn’t have very much time; Aelin’s left Isla with a very generous Elide, sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal for dinner and her homework. Usually, Aelin would work harder to get the girl to eat some real food, but sometimes one has to take the path of least resistance.

She’d nearly forgotten about the little office space, tucked behind the tack room in the main barn. A large part of Aelin just wants to lock the space up and never go in, leaving it as a time capsule from another life. After all, the only thing that Aelin will find in that room is more bills and problems. She’s already uncertain about how she will pay the employees; the numbers do not add up.

Aelin has a feeling she’s going to end up laying some of them off to keep the farm afloat long enough to sell it.

The stables are empty of people at this hour; the horses are quiet and settled in for the evening as Aelin passes through. A few poke their heads out curiously to see what she’s doing, and a couple of others nicker in greeting. She may or may not get distracted, giving out a few scratches.

Kingsflame is in the stable closest to the office; it almost looks as if Rhoe was trying to keep an eye on the escape artist. The horse’s massive frame looms in the shadows of his stall, tall and intimidating. Aelin pauses to get a better look at the colt, thinking back on how happy and free he looked running across the lawn yesterday. What Rowan said about King’s previous owners comes to mind, and she frowns.

“What happened to you, buddy?” she asks the horse, holding out her hand and clicking her teeth to beckon him over. Kingsflame’s ears turn backward at the sound of her voice, tracking her presence, but he makes no move to look at her. It’s a blatant dismissal.

Aelin lingers for another moment, hoping he might cave and come over, but the colt just ignores her in favor of staring at his wall. Thoroughbreds are temperamental, but her family has always loved them for all of their quirks and neediness.

Aelin’s father especially had a fondness for them.

“Fine then,” she tells him after too long of a pause. King is a horse; he’s not going to talk to her. “You keep your secrets.”

Kingsflame grunts in response and Aelin chuckles again at his sass. He doesn’t seem all that troublesome right now; yet, that could just be because he doesn’t feel like giving her the time of day. She clicks her teeth one last time only to be ignored, and then she heads for the office with a sigh. She’s out of plausible distractions.

*

Aelin lets out one or two foul words when the door to the office sticks as she tries to open it. She doesn’t feel at all guilty; as long as Isla’s not within earshot, she’s done her duty. Aelin will spend forever trying to make up for the hilarious and embarrassing period when _shit_ was Isla’s favorite word. Her mother didn’t find it quite as funny.

She takes a look around the office. Unsurprisingly, Aelin finds another organization method similar to that of the one she found at the house. She sighs deeply; why couldn’t her father be the OCD parent? All Aelin has done this week is sort through Rhoe’s papers and cry.

There’s a large desk taking up most of the space in the little office. It’s old and looks far too heavy to ever dream of moving; Aelin wonders how her father even managed to get such a large piece of furniture in the room in the first place. It certainly doesn’t look like it fits through the door frame. It must have been put together here and would likely stay there forever.

A leather-bound ledger sits atop the desk, and Aelin’s heart soars with relief. The word PAYROLL is embossed on the cover, which is rather promising. She makes her way over to the desk, flipping open the book. Inside, Aelin discovers her father’s equally messy scrawl, a trait that she picked up from him. Her mother was always commenting on how terribly Aelin writes, just like her father.

“You always did like to do things the old school way, huh?” Aelin speaks to the air, sinking into the creaky wooden chair. At least she knows now how much everyone in this place is getting paid.

Aelin pours over the books and texts with Elide and Isla, who take selfies together to send to her. It seems a little silly, considering that they’re only a short walk away from one another, but Aelin knows that Elide is trying her hardest to cheer her up. She’s a good friend.

In the end, Aelin cuts the checks for the employees, stuffs them into envelopes, and writes their names on them. She’ll have to get up tomorrow and hand them out, apologize for slacking; hell, Aelin needs to go around and introduce herself to everyone, find out who is who and what they do. It’s the least that she can manage in the light of the fact that Aelin is probably going to end up firing all of them.

Guilt floods her, but Aelin pushes the emotions down, down, down.

She isn’t ready to return to Isla yet, still lost in her feelings, so Aelin takes a moment to drink in the little office space. Rhoe always kept all of Aelin’s show and competition ribbons; they’ve hung in this office all of her life.

She sighs. “This place hasn’t changed at all.”

Except, upon closer inspection, it has. The show ribbons and toothless smiles of Aelin’s youth progress through the different stages of her life. There’s a photo from her first show; she placed third out of four girls, but her parents weren’t about to point that logic out. There’s her second-place ribbon from her first jumping competition and a photo of her ten-year-old self trying not to cry in disappointment. Aelin has always been horribly competitive.

She skims through the rest of the memories, a collection of snapshots following her life after the divorce. Pictures of her tanned from a summer in the sun pair with different ribbons, but the images change as time progressed. Aelin’s ribbons switch from horse-related to the academic, debate club, and student body nominations. There’s a letter announcing that she made the dean’s list at the prestigious Adarlan University, and somehow, her father obtained a copy of her Valedictorian speech, too. Her mother must have sent it to him. A photo hangs beside the speech of Aelin and her father on the day she graduated.

Their smiling faces bring tears to her eyes. Aelin steps back from the memories and lets out a shaky breath. She’s trying very hard not to have a meltdown in this office, but her eyes have other plans, falling to the most recent addition on Rhoe’s wall of memories.

Rhoe must have managed to print the final picture himself because Aelin didn’t send it to him. In fact, she remembers the day and can recall snapping the photo on her father’s phone per his request.

It’s on regular printer paper, so the image’s quality isn’t the greatest, but the subject is as clear as day: Rhoe and Isla sitting together for last year’s Yulemas. Her father’s grin is so big that it takes up most of the photograph, and Isla’s eyes sparkle as she holds up the gift that her grandfather has brought her.

Riding gloves, for when they finally came to visit.

Aelin isn’t all that surprised by the tears; she wipes them away silently, the guilt causing them to fall more quickly than usual. Aelin can’t believe that she never brought Isla here and can’t understand how she didn’t prioritize getting her daughter here to see Rhoe at the farm. It’s unbelievable enough that Aelin stopped her visits; she’s always loved this place. Her mother had to drag her away, kicking and screaming.

Life got in the way, is what Aelin tells herself. She kept having to push back trips, canceling different almost-visits, until she just stopped trying to plan them anymore. Her father never pressed the matter, but now Aelin wishes that he had.

There was just… There was supposed to be more time.

Aelin’s phone breaks her out of her melancholy with a ring, and she reaches for where she left it on the desk. She’s expecting it to be Isla, and Aelin sniffles, trying to compose herself before speaking with her daughter. Yet, when she checks the caller ID, it’s an unknown number; Aelin answers the call anyway.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hey! Is this Aelin?” A vaguely familiar voice asks. Aelin can’t place the voice’s owner, but the distinct drawl of a native Terrasen tugs at her memory.

“That’s me,” Aelin chirps, waiting for the caller to explain themselves.

“Uh, this is Lysandra,” the voice says somewhat shyly, and Aelin jolts at the revelation, placing her as Aedion’s old flame. And her old frenemy.

“H-hey.” Gods, Aelin hopes this isn’t a sympathy call.

“Sorry,” she says quickly. It’s unlike the Lysandra that Aelin remembers, haughty and inclined to cruelness. “I know this is weird, but I got your number from Manon, who got it from Fenrys, who asked Elide for it, and—Well, basically, I think I’ve got your horse.”

Lysandra lets out a breath. She sounds a little concerned, but Aelin thinks she’s right to be. Galathynius Farms is a few hundred acres; if one of the horses got off their land, they went quite a way to do so.

“Are you sure?” Aelin asks, wrinkling her brow. It seems unlike Rowan or Manon to leave any of the horses unsecured for the evening, especially those left out to pasture.

A huff that sounds precisely like the Lysandra she remembers. “Yeah. You’re the only thoroughbred breeder on this side of town, remember?” There’s a pause. Aelin can practically feel the regret leaking through the phone from Lysandra. “Uh, pretty golden chestnut… Dark mane… He’s got a real attitude, though. I tried to get a hold of him, and he told me no. Basically.”

Aelin locks up the office, heading out of the stables. She decides to scan the stalls, looking to see if anyone is missing that shouldn’t be, but Aelin knows that she's going to have to get Rowan to figure it out. He’s the go-to for these kinds of things. If it weren’t for the fact that the farm was out of money, Aelin would give the guy a raise.

“Uh, sorry,” Aelin says lamely. “I’m kind of unfamiliar with the farm these days.” She ignores the uncomfortable twist of her stomach; she doesn’t like having to admit that to someone. “What makes you think he belongs to us?”

“I caught a glimpse at his bridle,” Lysandra tells her. “The farm logo was on it. Remember how you were always scribbling that little stag on things?”

Aelin feels like an idiot. Of course, Lysandra would know how to identify a horse; she grew up here in Orynth. Just like Aelin did.

“What I remember is how you and Aedion always picked on me for preferring horses over you assholes,” Aelin snaps before she can stop herself. She lets out an irritated breath. “I’ll be over soon; I just have to get the trailer—shit.”

Kingsflame’s stall is empty when Aelin looks into it. Of course, it’s that damn horse that’s gone for a midnight stroll. Again. Aelin struggles to resist the urge to bash her head against the wall.

“You okay?” Lysandra sounds worried.

“I’m awesome.” Aelin sounds anything but. “I’ll be there really soon, but watch out for King, okay? I’ve been told he’s... temperamental.”

“Yes,” Lysandra agrees. “I've noticed.”

Aelin laughs. “Yeah. Thanks. Be there soon.”

*

The phone goes to voicemail the first couple of times, Aelin attempts to call Rowan. At the house, she tells Elide what’s happened, and the other woman also attempts to contact the man. The brunette is cursing and swearing when she calls Aelin back to tell her Rowan didn’t answer. Though Aelin can’t say that she blames him, it’s well past a decent hour to take a call from your boss. She tries one more time, and then gives up, deciding to head over to his house on the property.

There’s no way Aelin can handle Kingsflame on her own. Nor can her little rental pull a trailer. Aelin hasn’t actually had to pull a trailer before, having left Terrassen well before she was of legal driving age. But she thinks she could probably pull it off, if out of stubbornness more than anything else, but there’s still the matter of having a truck to do so.

The walk up to the house feels a little strange to Aelin. She’s never set foot inside the smaller home on the property, dedicated to housing Rhoe’s second hand on the farm. It’s appropriate that Rowan lives there now; everything on record suggests that Rowan pretty much runs the place in her father’s absence.

The red truck parked out front is promising, Aelin thinks as she nears the front door. He should be home, and if he isn’t, then Aelin will be at a loss. She supposes she could try and fire up her father’s truck, but with the way Aelin’s luck has been going lately, she’d probably just end up riding King home.

Fingers crossed, she raps on the front door of Rowan’s home, waiting a few minutes with bated breath. As suspected, Aelin has no such luck. She groans; it figures. She considers going home and hunting for her dad’s keys; maybe Aelin could talk Elide into getting Manon’s help. That would be a fun experience.

Throwing caution to the wind, Aelin knocks one last time. Her heart jumps when she hears movement inside.

“Fenrys!” Rowan scolds through the door, sounding like an angry parent. “I thought I told you to go away!”

Aelin snickers, recalling Fenrys’s aptitude for being outrageously annoying. It’s good to know that that hasn’t changed about the troublesome twin brother. Aelin bites her lip, resisting the urge to say something smart in response when Rowan answers the door.

All of her snark escapes her at the sight of a shirtless Rowan. Aelin’s eyes skip instinctively down the display of tanned skin and muscle, using the tattoo that Aelin didn’t know about as a guide. When her gaze reaches his hastily, half-done jeans, they fly back up to his face in shock.

Aelin’s cheeks burn with a blush; she can only hope that the dark of night hides her embarrassment from view. She can’t believe she checked him out like that.

“Oh.” Rowan looks surprised by her presence on his doorstep. At that moment, he seems to become aware of the fact that he’s half-naked, and he crosses his arms over his chest, flexing his biceps—as if Rowan could possibly have any reason to be self-conscious. “Aelin.”

“S-sorry,” she apologizes, feeling very silly. A woman’s voice calls from somewhere within the house, sealing Aelin’s fate. She’ll never be able to look at this man in the eye again. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Aelin thinks she might die from her word choice alone. “I’ll give Manon a call.”

“She’s on a date,” Rowan replies, catching her gently by the elbow before Aelin can leave. “What’s up?”

She struggles to meet the half-naked man’s eyes. Aelin can’t decide if the concern in his eyes makes the situation better or worse. “Uh, Lysandra called. Apparently, King went out for a moonlit stroll.”

Rowan swears under his breath, and Aelin feels bad for delivering the crappy news and ruining his evening.

“Ah. Aelin. Galathynius.” A woman’s voice interrupts, and Aelin bristles at the voice she never thought she’d hear again.

“Hey, there. Remelle. Hearst.” Aelin mimics the way the woman said her name, shooting Rowan a meaningful look. The Hearst family owns their own racing farm; Aelin wouldn’t say that the two families were enemies, but Aelin doesn’t know that she would call them friends either.

At the sight of Remelle on her land, Aelin immediately forgets her guilt at interrupting Rowan’s evening. Remelle was always the girl that Aelin was trying to best growing up, not that Remelle ever noticed. No, Remelle never even registered Aelin as competition.

“I’d heard you were back in town,” Remelle lilts, propping one hand on her hip and smiling. The elegant, curvy woman always manages to look like she’s just walked off a runway, even when wearing Rowan’s missing shirt. Yeah, Aelin still hates her.

“I’d say I was surprised you two knew each other, but—” Rowan shrugs his shoulders emphatically, looking at Aelin. “Give me two seconds to get dressed, and we can leave.”

“No! It’s fine.” Aelin waves one hand. Suddenly, she doesn’t want Rowan’s help anymore. She’ll figure it out herself. She’s got this; she’s capable. “I’ve got it covered. I’m just gonna ride over there and get him.”

“The hell you are,” snaps Rowan. His voice is harsh, surprising even Remelle as she watches them. She raises one delicate brow at Aelin, who ignores the other woman in favor of glaring at Rowan. She’s not about to let him tell her what to do.

“At least not by yourself,” he insists a little softer. He points one accusing finger at Aelin as if he doesn’t trust her not to turn tail and run for it once his back is turned. “Wait. Right there.”

Mercifully, Aelin’s phone rings, saving her from small talk with Remelle. It’s Isla.

“Hey, baby,” she answers, pushing away the guilt she feels at leaving Isla for so long. Aelin is surprised that her daughter is even still awake.

“Where are you?” Isla sounds sleepy, fighting back a yawn.

“I’m at Rowan’s,” she tells her daughter honestly. Aelin always makes a point not to lie to her daughter. “A horse got out, and we’re going to go get him.”

“Oh!” Isla perks up. “Can I come?”

Aelin smiles. “Not tonight. Don’t worry about it, Is. I’ll be home soon, okay? Tell Aunt Elide you’re ready for bed.”

“She’s sleeping,” Isla tells her, making Aelin snort. Of course, she is.

“Well, give her a kick for me, and then go to bed, okay?” Aelin tells her daughter. Isla giggles, agreeing. Though, Aelin doubts that her daughter will kick Elide. She’s too nice. Aelin has no idea where Isla gets it from.

The line goes dead as Rowan reappears, jeans done properly and a shirt covering that tattoo. He raises a brow at her smile, and Aelin tells him, “Elide fell asleep while watching my kid.”

“It happens to the best of us,” Rowan says, smiling a little. “Go on home; I’ve got it from here.”

“But you just told me—”

“It’s the middle of the night, you’re inexperienced, and that horse is a wildcard when you’re asking him to do something he _wants_ to do,” Rowan interrupts. His voice leaves little room for argument, and something about that only riles Aelin’s temper.

“Inexperienced?” She hisses like a feral cat down a dark Varese alleyway. “Which one of us grew up on this farm?”

“Out of practice then,” Rowan growls. He manages to imply with his tone that he disagrees with the concession, but he’s willing to make it to move on. Aelin suddenly wants to punch him in the face.

Remelle interrupts them, rolling her eyes and placing a possessive hand on Rowan’s freshly clad chest. Aelin feels a little nauseous at the sight of Rowan, so familiar with someone so terrible. “That horse isn’t going to bring itself back. I’ll go over and knock on the door, wakeup good ol’ Shortcake, and you two can go get the horse.”

“Don’t call her that,” she growls at the other woman.

“That’s not her name,” Rowan echoes her thoughts, speaking in time with Aelin. They share an uncomfortable look.

Remelle tosses her hair over her shoulder, playing unimpressed; Rowan, on the other hand, looks at Aelin, saying, “Go check on them. I’ll get the trailer set up in the meantime.”

Aelin nodes her consent, praying Rowan won’t ditch her, and they split up. She bristles at the idea of Remelle getting anywhere near her family home. Aelin could try with all of her might to let go of her old opinions of Remelle, but the woman had severe doubts that anything about Remelle had actually changed. For the better anyway.

The walk back to the main house is too quick. Aelin finds Elide passed out on the couch, and Isla’s favorite cartoon plays from the laptop, the animal’s voices filling the quiet living room. She frowns at the package of cookies on the table, an old glass of milk beside it. Aelin should’ve known Elide would sneak Isla treats.

There’s a little bundle of blankets on the couch beside Elide. When Aelin checks it, she finds her daughter, curled up in a ball and sleeping soundly. Aelin smiles at the sight before scooping her kid up and carrying her off to bed. She’ll give Elide a good shake before she goes, and then she’ll be off with Rowan.

Unless he’s already left her behind, the thought makes her walk just a little bit quicker.

*

“So,” Aelin starts. They’re driving over to Lysandra’s, and for the most part, the journey’s been in relative silence. Rowan doesn’t seem like the type of guy to share many of his thoughts. “You and Remelle Hearst?”

Rowan makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I do not have to talk about this with you.”

Yet, Aelin’s never been the type of person just to let something like this go. “I mean, is that really such a good idea? Sleeping with the enemy?”

“From what I hear,” Rowan says with a harsh scoff, “you’re the only one who considers Remelle to be an enemy. Isn’t that right, Princess?”

“Ex-excuse me?” Aelin stutters. “I don’t think Remelle is my enemy!”

Rowan’s grin is wolfish. “That’s not what your father says.”

The mention of Rhoe sobers them. Rowan and Aelin avert their eyes and focus on the road ahead of them, riding in silence once more. Aelin tries to leave it be, honestly, she does, but then she’s clearing her throat, pointedly. Even in the dark, she can tell that Rowan is smirking at her.

“Remelle was always better than me—at everything,” Aelin concedes at last. She can feel Rowan’s amusement without being able to see it. “But I guess, the Hearsts weren’t _terrible_ to us. If you exclude her mother’s schemes.”

“Yeah,” Rowan agrees. “She’s a nasty one, isn’t she?”

In the distance, Aelin can make out the posts marking the border between Galathynius Farms and the Ennar property. Neither family keeps any livestock this far out, so there’s never been a need for a fence line. Maybe the Farm’s next owner will put one up; the thought twists Aelin’s heart into a knot.

“Yeah,” Aelin says, distracted by the pain of losing her childhood home.

Rowan doesn’t seem to notice, thinking aloud. “I suppose it’s the Havilliards you’ll need to keep an eye out for,” he says as they cross the invisible property lines. Aelin makes a face, confused.

“Like… Dorian Havilliard?” Aelin asks. There can only be so many families with a last name like that. It’s like Galathynius. One of a kind.

Rowan’s brow raises in surprise. “You know that guy?”

Aelin feels a rush of embarrassment as she admits, “We might’ve been a thing… back in the day.”

“And you were trying to give me hell for Remelle,” the man scoffs, pulling down the drive that leads to Lysandra’s home. “The Havilliards are a piece of work. When word gets around that you’re planning to sell—well, those fucking vultures will be the first in line.”

“That doesn’t sound like Dorian,” Aelin defends. “That sounds like his father.”

Another harsh breath. “It doesn’t really matter who it is,” Rowan says flatly. His voice has an edge to it, but Aelin can’t make out his expression in the dark. Still, she knows well where Rowan stands on the matter of selling Galathynius Farms. “If a Havilliard gets their hands on your property, they’re going to pave it over and turn it into more suburbs.”

“Dorian would never do that,” Aelin says, feeling ill at the thought of the farm destroyed like that. The idea of selling the farm is about as awful as the thought of why she’s doing it. “I would _never_ let that happen.”

“If you sell, you don’t have a say in the matter,” Rowan tells her carefully. “Like it or not, Princess.”

Aelin doesn’t have anything to say to that. She knows that Rowan is right, and the thought kills her, makes her feel hopeless and lost. It seems as if that’s the only way she’s felt since answering Elide’s call. Gods, will she ever see the light at the end of the tunnel?

“That’s Lysandra,” Rowan says, pointing out a figure. Aelin can barely see her in the dark, but it’s her.

Up close, the dim light of the porch illuminates Lysandra’s pale skin and smooth, dark hair. She looks a little ghostly in the dark, but Aelin’s old schoolmate looks as beautiful as ever. The brunette shoots them her signature sultry smile, but it’s the awkward single wave that makes Aelin smile. At least, it’s just as weird for Lysandra as it is for Aelin.

“Aelin Galathynius,” Lysandra coos. Aelin immediately feels like she’s sixteen again with legs and arms too long for her body and a wit too big for this little town. Gods, Aelin hated her adolescence.

“Everyone keeps saying my name like they think I’ve forgotten it,” she snarks. Rowan barks a surprised laugh, and Lysandra arches a perfect brow at them, missing out on the joke.

“Well, you fell out of the trees enough,” Lysandra says around a sharp smile, “that we just wanna check your memory.”

“Lys,” Rowan interrupts, likely able to sense the fight brewing between two catty women. “Where’s he at?”

“Uh, he just wandered up to the Northside. There’s a river down that way.” Lysandra tells them. “My guess is he went for a drink. I tried to dissuade him, but he’s strong-willed that one.”

Rowan clenches his jaw, and Aelin thinks it’s got something to do with the thought of Lysandra getting hurt by their willful rescue horse.

“Thanks for your help.” Aelin looks to Lysandra. “We’ll get him rounded up and out of your way in no time.”

Lysandra shakes her head. “No big deal. It’s not like it’s the first time this has happened. Besides, it’s good to see a race horse back in action at the Farm. Been too long.”

Aelin is surprised by the comment. As far as she was aware, Rhoe hadn’t ever been in the business of training racehorses, except for rehabbing them and breeding. The days of Galathynius Farms as a racing ranch were over long before Aelin was ever born. At least, there hadn’t been any racing going on when she lived here, and there hadn’t been any since she moved.

Right?

*

Aelin follows Rowan across the Ennar property in the direction that Lysandra pointed out, towards the river. At this point, she’s turned around enough that Aelin couldn’t tell which way led to home, so she trusts Rowan to get them where they’re going. It wasn’t always like this; Aelin used to know this land like the back of her hands. Time away has changed that.

Kingsflame is, predictably, munching on some grass near the water. Rowan motions to Aelin to slow down to avoid startling their target and Aelin obliges, following the man’s lead. He’s the expert when it comes to King, not Aelin.

“Wait here,” he tells Aelin. She’s not the biggest fan of being excluded, but she understands how two people are more intimidating than one. Rowan approaches Kingsflame with the lead, moving as non-threateningly as possible.

At first, King looks happy to see the pair of them. The colt lifts his head and nickers at them in greeting, all friendly body language. Aelin supposes the horse is well-versed in this game by now: break out of the stables, sneak off the farm, and get brought back by the humans. Despite that, Kingsflame doesn’t seem to mind; he allows Rowan to get close.

That is until Rowan takes hold of the horse’s bridle. King whinnies and yanks his head free of Rowan’s light hold, clearly not content to come easily this evening. Rowan speaks softly to the horse, words that Aelin can’t hear from the distance, but the horse makes a disgruntled noise and turns his ears backward, a warning for Rowan to keep his distance.

“Easy boy,” Rowan tells the horse, waiting for King to settle. When he reaches for Kingsflame a second time, the horse lashes out. Aelin watches hopelessly from afar as the colt rears back, resisting.

“It’s alright. We’re just going to go home and get warm, yeah?” the man says, trying to settle the horse. But King refuses, shaking his head to prevent Rowan from attaching the lead. Aelin hovers, wanting to help but feeling unsure of herself.

The horse disagrees. When Kingsflame rears again, his front hooves come dangerously close to Rowan’s face. The sight of the near-miss pushes Aelin into action, and she jumps out in front of Rowan, arms raised. She knows Rowan will be furious with her, but Aelin steps between them, anyway.

“Settle,” she tells the horse, firmly and calmly. King’s ears turn backward in warning, but Aelin refuses to back down, sensing that this horse is the kind that needs a firm hand. “Settle. That’s quite enough from you.”

Taking a chance, Aelin steps forward. When Kingsflame doesn’t rear again, she reaches for him, tentative and prepared to move out of the way if necessary. “It’s going to be okay.”

As Aelin inches her way forward, she can feel the tension radiating off of Rowan. She ignores him in favor of the horse in front of her. “It’s going to be rather cold tonight, mister. Sure, you don’t want to come home with me?”

Kingsflame huffs. Aelin waits for more protests. When nothing happens, she reaches slowly for the harness. King nickers, but the horse acquiesces. Without looking away from him, Aelin reaches out behind her for the lead. Rowan places it into her hands silently; they both note how Kingsflame tenses when Rowan moves.

“Good boy,” Aelin praises the horse as she attaches the lead. “That’s not so bad, is it?”

Kingsflame nickers, flicking his tail. He seems pleased with the development, and so, Aelin begins to lead him back. The woman can feel Rowan’s anger without even having to look at him; the man simply steps to the side, allowing Aelin to have the honor of leading the horse to the trailer.

Aelin can easily read the lines of tension, of anger, radiating off of Rowan’s shoulders, but she decides to leave it be for now. It would appear that he’s the type of guy that doesn’t like it when people refuse to listen to him. It’s bad news considering that Aelin isn’t the type of girl to follow orders; she makes her own.

“What do you say we head home? Huh, buddy?” Aelin asks Kingsflame as they load him onto the trailer. The horse huffs a breath in response, and Aelin wonders, not for the first time, what King would say to her if he could speak.

*

Rowan doesn’t say a word the entire trip home. He thanks Lysandra when he calls to tell her they found King, and he mutters a few comments about this or that to himself as they drive, but other than that, Rowan doesn’t so much as look in Aelin’s direction. The silence bothers Aelin more than it would if he were to yell at her.

Still, Aelin manages to bite her tongue for the sake of the horse, fuming silently as Rowan guides King out of the trailer and towards his stall. Aelin waits for the man at the exit, praying he doesn’t use a side door to slip away into the night. She needs to talk to him.

Luck appears to be on her side, for the time being, Rowan reappears. His green eyes look her way; she takes a deep breath, preparing to talk to him. Aelin turns to say something, only to catch a glimpse of the back of his head as heads for his truck. She runs after him.

“Hey!” she yells after him, forgetting about her plan of remaining calm.

“What?” Rowan snaps in response. The moon is high now, illuminating the Terrasen mountains. It ignites Rowan’s silver-blonde hair, and for the briefest moment, Aelin is distracted by how… handsome he looks.

What terrible timing.

“You’re just going to leave?” Aelin asks. “No goodbye? No saying sorry?”

“What do I have to apologize for?” Rowan asks, temper flaring behind those green eyes. “I’m not the one that stepped in front of an angry horse, and specifically after I told you—”

“Oh? You told me?” Aelin laughs bitterly. 

“I told you to wait,” Rowan repeats, voice carefully even.

Aelin sneers. “I don’t recall when I started working for you, Whitethorn.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do, do you?” Rowan’s eyes burn with open disdain. It’s startling to see the emotion there, especially when Aelin was just starting to think they could be friends. It looks like she’s managed to mess that up already.

“No. I don’t,” Aelin says because she can’t stop herself. She’s not sure why she’s so upset with Rowan; she hardly knows the guy. Yet, it feels good to yell at someone for a change, even if they maybe don’t deserve it.

Rowan crosses his arms. His anger makes him look larger than life, but Aelin is nothing if not stubborn, jutting out her chin and holding her grown. She has no intention of backing down or tempering the situation. For the first time in days, Aelin isn’t sad. She’s _mad_.

“I suppose you just assume that you know it all, don’t you?” Rowan spits at her. “That you don’t have to follow anyone else’s rules because you grew up on this farm. And that fact alone makes you an expert in the situation, right?”

Rowan’s words are a slap in the face, but Aelin refuses to flinch. “I don’t think I know everything,” she says. “But I do think that I own this stupid farm now, so—”

“So, I should just let you run everything?” Rowan interrupts. It really pisses her off when people do that. “That I should just let you run headfirst towards a dangerous horse and let you get yourself hurt?” He points an accusing finger in her direction.

“ _Seriously?_ ” Aelin exclaims, gesturing wildly with her hands. “I’m not a fucking idiot! Look—I don’t get the big deal. Kingsflame is back, and everything is fine. Why are you being so—so pissy?”

“You think what you did out there was _fine_?” Rowan steps dangerously close to Aelin, towering over her and glaring down at her with passion.

“I was raised around horses,” Aelin grits out, hating that that is her best defense. She continues before Rowan can cut her off again. “I know enough to know how to handle an upset horse. So, you can just forget about the self-important lecture and—”

“That fucking horse has already killed one Galathynius,” Rowan hisses. His words chill Aelin to the bone. “I’ll be damned if I let it take another!”

Aelin’s anger diminishes like the snuffing of a candle. A lot of feelings seize her at once. Dread. Horror. Understanding.

“What did you just say?” Her words are small and ragged.

Rowan runs a hand down his face, clearly regretting himself. He swears under his breath. Aelin hears the screen door at the house open and close, but it sounds so far away from her. All of her focus is on the man in front of her and the secret he’s just spilled. The secret he was keeping from her.

“What did you just _say_?” Aelin repeats when Rowan refuses to answer. She doesn’t recognize herself; her voice sounds hysteric. Aelin isn’t a hysterical person. Right?

Later, Aelin will hate herself for the wild look in her eyes and for the way she unleashed a week’s worth of anger onto the person nearest her.

Rowan’s eyes fall closed in preparation. “Rhoe… Kingsflame. He—That’s who he fell off… King threw him, and he, he…”

Died, is what Rowan doesn’t say.

_And he died._


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

“Get rid of him,” Aelin spits.

Rowan is startled by the animosity in her voice, at the anger and venom coating those words. His mouth hangs open as he looks at her, eyes wide with surprise. Elide appears then; Aelin spies the woman in her peripheral vision, taking careful steps towards them.

“I want him _gone_ —immediately,” she hisses, decision final.

“What?” Rowan looks dumbfounded.

“I want that horse off of this farm. Tomorrow—he’s gone.” Aelin’s vision blurs with her fury, and her ears ring so loudly she can barely hear herself. The rush of emotions leaves Aelin dizzy, but it isn’t until the tears start to drip off of her nose that Aelin realizes she can’t see because she’s crying. It only makes her madder.

Rowan protests, “King can’t go anywhere. He’s not—”

“You find him somewhere else to be, or I’ll ship him off myself,” Aelin snaps, cutting him off. She thinks that she needs to leave now, needs to go inside before saying something that she’ll regret. Something else that she’ll regret, a distant part of her mind corrects. Aelin’s limbs shake with emotion, and she feels unsteady on her feet like she might tip over at any moment.

“Aelin,” Rowans starts.

She cuts him off once more, her voice breaking with anger. “ I want him gone!”

Aelin turns away from him then, leaving no further room for argument. She hears Rowan’s footsteps as if he would chase after her to plea for the animal, but another voice speaks before he can. It’s Elide, Aelin notes, remembering how the other woman came out of the house mere moments ago. The former jockey whispers something to Rowan, and their footsteps fade.

Aelin marches into the house like a woman on the warpath, full of turbulent energy with no appropriate output. She paces the ground floor of the house, struggling to process the news she’s just received. Aelin knew, of course, how her father died, but knowing such a thing in the abstract was different from knowing the facts.

Rhoe Galathynius died from a fall—because he’d fallen off a horse and hit his head _just right_. It was a horrible, but not unheard of, cause of death amongst horsemen. It was very likely, if not inevitable, that the horse Aelin’s father fell off of was one of his own, residing at that very farm.

But it was _Kingsflame_. The troublesome, rescue racehorse. The horse Rhoe was working so hard to save.

“Shit,” Aelin growls to herself as she stands in the kitchen, shaking with her anger. The house is dark, the only light source that of the lamppost outside as it leaks through the windows and casts shadows in the room. She stares at the entryway and the rickety old stairs beyond it.

After days of floating back and forth between all-consuming grief and eerie numbness, Aelin isn’t sure what to do with all of this anger.

And then, Aelin remembers Isla and just as quickly shoves her anger aside. She takes a deep breath to calm herself, and then the mother heads up the stairs to check on her daughter. The anger will have to wait; Isla always comes first.

*

Isla is sound asleep underneath the pink quilt of Aelin’s youth, having claimed her mother’s childhood bedroom for herself upon arrival. The sight of Aelin’s daughter helps to ease some of her anger, if only slightly, and Aelin hovers in the doorway, watching her baby sleep peacefully. Sometimes, Aelin thinks that she’d give anything to be that young and innocent once more.

The little girl must sense her mother’s eyes on her, and she starts to stir, rubbing at her eyes and blinking up at Aelin in the doorway.

“Mom?” Isla questions, concern and sleep slurring her words together. It weighs on Aelin to have her daughter worry about her, and Aelin forces a soft smile onto her face before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Aelin tucks a wild curl behind Isla’s ear. “Sorry, kiddo. I was just checking on you.”

“Did you catch the horse?” Isla mumbles, still too asleep to manage her usual volume and excitement about the farm animals. Aelin has to swallow back her emotions before she can answer her daughter, Rowan’s admittance rattling inside her mind.

Kingsflame. It was _Kingsflame_.

“Mom?” Isla tries to sit up, but Aelin stops her.

“Yes, yes, we did. I’m sorry I woke you up.” Aelin apologizes again. “Elide is going to come hang out with you in the morning while I go out with Grandma, okay? Go back to sleep.”

Aelin gets up to leave, but a small hand grabs at her wrist to stop her. Isla looks up at her with a gaze too wise for her age. “Wanna cuddle?”

Nobody saw it coming when Isla’s father left, least of all Aelin. It didn’t matter, though; no amount of preparation could have readied Aelin for the afternoon she returned home to a note on the coffee table and a half-empty bedroom. She’d had to tell Isla alone, while she was still processing it. Aelin wasn’t too proud of the fact that she lied at first, explained it as a business trip, and nothing more.

Isla figured it all eventually, too smart for her own good. Back then, Aelin had comforted her daughter with cuddles and hot chocolate nights; now, it seemed that Isla was planning to return the favor for her mother.

“I’d like that,” Aelin tells Isla softly. Her voice wavers with the threat of tears, but Isla simply lifts her arms into the air to welcome Aelin into her childhood bed. They adjust, and with Isla snuggled into the crook of her arms, Aelin finally finds some sleep. She’ll be needing it for the days ahead.

*

The grey morning Aelin wakes up to fits her mood perfectly—gloomy and cold and without a ray of sunshine in sight. 

She decides to take her time getting ready for the challenging day ahead of her, the horrible task at hand, and prays that it’ll all be over soon. Each day that passes, she’s more and more ready to return to her life back in Wendlyn; Aelin’s prepared to be done with this farm and all of its bittersweet memories.

And yet, Aelin makes herself a mental note to pack better clothing for her next trip home to Terrasen. There’s no way that this week will be her last here, and Aelin will need clothes that she isn’t concerned about ruining. She’ll need to return to continue settling the estate, to prepare the farm, and to list it.

Galathynius Farms won’t just sell itself.

It takes her a moment, her hands braced against the bathroom sink, to tamper down the feelings of guilt and grief at the idea of selling the family farm. Aelin’s resolved to do so; it’s the only option. And yet, it feels so _terrible_. How many generations of Galathyniuses have owned this place? How many generations have lived here, grew up here?

And she, Aelin Galathynius, gets to be the one to sell it off, abandoning it to some big wig company with plans to merge it into another of their prestigious horse programs. They’ll slap some generic name onto it and turn it into another cog in the machine for some high-end horse-racing farm with lots of money and little heart.

Aelin’s family legacy will be gone. She will have destroyed it.

They’ll probably tear her house down, Aelin realizes. Hell, they’ll probably bulldoze the stables, too. Whoever has the money to buy this place, and all of its debt will want some intricate, high-tech farm with equipment that automatically feeds the horses and air conditioning to keep everyone comfortable. Horses don’t care about air conditioning.

“Honey, I’m _home_!” Elide sings from down the stairs. Isla giggles from the living room, where Aelin set the little girl up to keep her busy while she got ready. The sound of her daughter’s laughter makes Aelin smile. It’s hard not to be amused by Elide and her antics, especially once getting to know her.

“We’re going to have fun today, kiddo!” Another sweet giggle. “Am I right? Or am I _right_?”

Aelin descends the stairs hesitantly, still feeling a little embarrassed about her screaming match with Rowan last night. She’s not sorry for yelling at him. Oh no. The guy was a total ass, but Aelin is a little ashamed that she let her temper get away from her so badly. It’s been a long time since that Ashryver short-fuse got the better of her.

Elise smiles at her slyly when she spots her, and it eases a little bit of the tension in Aelin’s heart. She was worried that her old friend might side with Rowan or just be plain mad at Aelin for her behavior; Aelin certainly wouldn’t blame Elide for it. After all, Elide and Rowan were friends, too. And they saw each other way more often than Elide did Aelin.

“So, you any good at fixing tractors?” Elide asks Isla, resting her hands on her hips and giving the child a determined once over, judging Aelin’s daughter’s worth.

“Nooo,” Isla says through a giggle. Her eyes are bright and happy, and Isla wears the biggest smile Aelin’s seen on her face in a while. They’ve both been feeling rather down as of late.

Aelin raises a brow at her friend. “Elide,” she warns.

“I’ll take that as a no then.” Elide taps her foot thoughtfully, ignoring Aelin. “I suppose I just have to hope that you’re a fast learner then.”

Aelin loses a fight to her smile as Isla nods insistently. “I am!”

“Excellent.” Elide snaps her fingers. “Well, get your shoes on! I don’t have all day.”

Isla launches herself off of the couch, rushing for her boots and coat. Aelin’s never seen her daughter get ready to leave so quickly; she must really like Elide.

“Be careful!” Aelin calls after the duo. Elide throws a thumbs up over her shoulder, but Isla stops to spare her mother an excited grin. Any thoughts of Aelin ordering Elide to pick a different activity vanish at the look on Isla’s happy face.

Aelin sighs, relenting, and then she sets about finishing getting ready. It seems weird to spend so much time on her appearance to go to a funeral home; it’s been days since Aelin gave a second thought about her appearance in regards to others. Gods, she can only imagine the mess she’s been in these last few days. How embarrassing.

Her mother arrives promptly to drive them to their appointment. Aelin becomes even more thankful for the time she put into her looks at the sight of Evalin’s clean-cut, no-nonsense silhouette. The sheath dress her mother wears is more appropriate for a meeting with the socialites of Varese than with the Maddens who run the funeral home. Not that Aelin would ever dare to say such a thing to her mother’s face.

On the porch, Evalin gives Aelin a sharp once over, and the younger Ashryver struggles not to tug at the hem of her shit in self-consciousness. She already knows that her exhaustion is apparent, even after an hour spent playing with makeup and her curling iron. Sleep came fitfully last night for Aelin, despite Isla’s warm, consoling presence. 

“I went horse wrangling last night,” Aelin explains, fidgeting under her mother’s scrutiny. Evalin Ashryver has a particular skill for making even the most confident of people feel insecure. Not just her daughter.

“Aren’t there people who are paid to do that?” Evalin mutters, flippant and cold. Aelin bites her tongue to refrain from biting back; she knows that this is her mother’s own way of dealing with the grief. Evalin used to live here and run this farm alongside Aelin’s father, until one day, she didn’t want to anymore.

“Yep,” she says carefully. “But, I was there.”

“Aelin, honestly—” 

Her mother’s words fade away as Aelin’s gaze snags on the last person she wants to see so early in the morning. Rowan Whitethorn has just hopped out of his truck, the trailer still attached to the hitch, and Aelin’s stomach turns at the reminder of the news she received last night and of the demand she made. It looks as if Rowan decided to listen to someone else for a change. Good for him.

As if sensing her gaze, Rowan turns his dark green eyes in her direction. He all but sneers at her, looking away as if the sight of her burns him; Aelin tries not to take offense. She reminds herself that she kind of, totally, went off on the guy last night, but then Aelin remembers that she isn’t the only one who lost their cool. _And_ she wasn’t the one keeping secrets.

“Honey?” Evalin asks, face going soft. “You okay?”

“No,” Aelin admits wearily, dragging her eyes away from him at last. “Let’s just get this over with.”

*

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Aelin can’t remember much of what happened at the funeral, happily allowing her mother to take the lead during such a devastating discussion. Evalin handled all of it, while Aelin crawled so deeply inside of herself that she barely had control of her motor functions, and then suddenly, it was over.

The Maddens were helpful beyond belief, Aelin knows, even if the memories are vague and detached. Therein lies the beauty of such a small, close-knit town; people come together in times of tragedy in Orynth. Aelin doesn’t know how she would have gotten through all of it on her own. She probably wouldn’t have.

“You alright?” A deep voice breaks Aelin out of her haze.

Aelin blinks rapidly to clear her vision, and the world comes into startling focus around her. She’s sitting on the front porch in the near-dark, staring at the snowy yard and the identical white fields beyond. Aelin can’t remember how long she’s been out here, but it’s been long enough that she no longer feels the cold.

It takes another moment for her blurry eyes and foggy brain to locate Rowan, leaning against the rails by the porch steps and observing her. He’s dressed in layers of flannel and a green knit hat that looks spectacularly out of place atop his head.

“Nice hat,” Aelin tells him ruefully, avoiding the loaded question she’s been presented with. “Where can I get one?”

The spark in Rowan’s eyes tells Aelin that he hasn’t missed her expert evasion. He sighs loudly and pockets his hands, shrugging, deciding to let her get away with it. “You can’t; it’s one of a kind.” Aelin arches a brow at that, unimpressed. Rowan explains, “Manon gave up knitting as soon as it was finished—too much counting.”

Aelin’s laugh startles her, but Rowan cracks a grin, pleased by it. Their faces both fall as they remember that they’re supposed to be mad at one another.

“I have trouble imagining Manon knitting,” Aelin admits, feeling awkward.

The mature adult in her knows that Aelin should apologize, talk it out with him, and move on, but an immature part of her still feels very justified in her actions. He’d kept something from her, and it really pissed her off. If the rigid set of Rowan’s jaw is any indication, the stable manager feels the same. He chews on his words before he speaks them; Aelin can tell he’s trying his best to be civil.

“It was pretty weird, to be honest,” Rowan says, finally choosing the safer path in their conversation. His expression goes far off as he replays the memories behind his eyes, and Aelin waits, enjoying the distraction. “It was recommended to help her with her anger management, and Manon doesn’t do things half-ass, so she became _obsessed_. There was yarn everywhere for weeks.”

“Did it help?” Aelin asks, thinking of the spunky woman. “With the anger?”

Rowan’s grin is bright; Aelin thinks the expression fits him well. He should smile more. “I mean, you’ve met Manon, right? Do you think it worked?”

Aelin snickers. Her second laugh of the day.

“I’m not taking up knitting,” Aelin says flatly before the man can suggest such a thing. “I’ll just end up setting everything on fire when I get frustrated.”

Rowan huffs a laugh. “Yeah, Manon did that, too.” He points at the hat on his head. “This is the only thing that survived the bonfire.”

Aelin laughs at the mental image of Manon Blackbeak, setting fire to a collection of knit apparel. It’s precisely the kind of chaotic thing she would expect from the brash blonde, not that Aelin is one to point fingers. Rowan frowns in disapproval of her amusement; although, Aelin thinks she sees a smile threatening his lips, too.

“Rhoe never knew what to do with that girl,” Rowan muses, glancing out at the farm as it glows in the dusk. “When she came here, she was…” A pause as he searches for the right word. “Broken. Angry.” A wry smile. “And mean as hell.”

“Sounds like a lot of fun,” Aelin tells him, her voice full of sarcasm.

“He took it all in stride, though,” he continues and shares a smile with Aelin. He digs the toe of his boot into the wood of the porch. “‘Said that he had a _bit_ of experience dealing with angry young women.”

Rowan shoots her a pointed look, and Aelin scoffs, offended by her father’s words.

“I was a perfectly well-behaved teenager. Thank you,” Aelin says, clipped. Rowan grins at her. “But— and I don’t mean this to sound as shitty as I suspect it’s going to come out—what was she doing here? Why did Rhoe hire Manon if she was trouble?”

His face turns serious as Aelin anticipated it might. It’s an honest question, though; Aelin doesn’t need her MBA to know the implications of hiring someone who has behavioral issues. No matter how good they were with the job—in this case, with horses.

“She wasn’t trouble,” Rowan defends harshly. “She was _in_ trouble. There’s a difference.”

Aelin waits, sensing more to the story. She hopes she’s earned the right to hear it, but Rowan could very well just tell her to fuck off.

“It was part of a transitory program,” Rowan begins slowly, “for troubled kids. Uh, basically, Rhoe volunteered to be one of the employers and give kids fresh out of juvie a job. You know, ‘cause no one else would give them a shot.”

Though Manon isn’t anywhere near a teenager anymore, she thinks.

“It's been a few years since Manon arrived,” Rowan adds when he sees the thought on Aelin’s face. He smiles softly. “As you can see, your father decided to keep a few of us long term. He’s always had a soft spot for strays.”

_Us._ Aelin notes the word choice. However, she doesn’t point it out; Rowan’s shared enough with her. Besides, it’s none of her business, except that it kind of is.

“What happened to this place?” Aelin asks as last. The question has been burning in the back of her mind since the taxi dropped her off. “How did it get so _bad_?”

Rowan sighs. “Taking in strays doesn’t really turn a profit,” he says. “And I think a couple of investors asked to be bought out. I don’t know the details exactly; Rhoe didn’t want to admit that there were any problems. But we all knew... know.”

“I wish I’d known,” Aelin complains. “I would’ve—“

She cuts herself off. Aelin doesn’t know what she would’ve done; things probably wouldn’t have been any better for anyone had Rhoe told her the truth. But still, it hurt knowing her father had kept so much a secret. That he’d been under such pressure with nobody to talk to about it, with no one to turn to for help.

“Rhoe was always shouldering the burden for everyone else,” Rowan thinks aloud. His piercing green eyes look her way; they’re starker in the porch light, stand out more against the shadows of his face. “I suspect it’s a Galathynius trait.”

Aelin glares at him, but she can’t deny it. His smile tells her that Rowan knows he’s caught her.

“Anyway.” He pushes away from the railing, shifting his weight to his feet. Rowan looks her over closely, and she thinks this is it. Rowan’s going to bring up the fight, and they’re going to talk about it. He’s going to call her out on being a bitch.

“You should probably get inside before you freeze to death,” is what Rowan says, though. He steps towards Aelin and invades her space to tug the blanket she’s wrapped in tighter. He observes, “You’re turning blue.”

Aelin laughs, feeling a little nervous at his closeness. It’s weird having someone look out for her that isn’t family. She deflects, cracking a cocky smile, and says, “Yessir.”

Rowan flashes her another smile at the teasing tone, and Aelin thinks once more that he’s the kind of guy that should smile more. The grumpy look just doesn’t suit him as well. She groans as she stands up, feeling the cold at last as her stiff joints protest the movement. Aelin tries not to think about how long she’s sat there alone, tries not to fret about how many precious hours she’s wasted staring at nothing.

“Um—” Rowan clears his throat uncomfortably, and Aelin is hit with dread. Maybe the coast isn’t clear, after all. “And… It's all been taken care of.”

He doesn’t specify what, but Aelin knows exactly what Rowan is referring to. Kingsflame. It instantly sours her mood and makes her forget all about their friendly conversation.

Aelin nods stiffly. She doesn’t feel good about the decision to get rid of the horse, but Aelin also doesn’t believe she has the strength in her to see King every day. She doesn’t know if she could stand having the cause of all her grief staring her in the face like that.

“Thanks.” The word tastes like ash. “Have a goodnight.”

Rowan sends her a two-finger salute and skips down the porch steps. Aelin can’t help but watch him curiously as he heads into the evening. Once he disappears, Aelin decides to see what her family has been up to while giving her space.

*

Inside, Aelin finds her daughter and mother hunched around the kitchen table. They’re playing what looks to be a riveting game of Uno, and she smiles at the sight of their matching scowls. Aelin inherited her competitiveness from Evalin, and she definitely passed that trait onto sweet little Isla. Game nights have always been a somewhat tumultuous affair in their family.

“Uno!” The seven-year-old screams, throwing the yellow seven-card down onto the table in victory. Isla’s smile shows off all of her teeth, and her Ashryver eyes shine with pride. Evalin pouts, but Aelin can tell her mother is proud, too.

“Good job, kiddo,” Aelin says and presses a kiss to her daughter’s head. Isla grimaces and wipes the affection away immediately; Evalin laughs at the offended expression Aelin wears because of the child’s antics.

Aelin’s mother says around a smile, “Why don’t you get ready for bed, Is? I’ll come to tuck you in in a second.”

“Okay,” Isla says and skips upstairs.

She’s too easy of a child, Aelin thinks sometimes. If it weren’t for the eyes and that signature nose, Aelin would insist the hospital switched her at birth. Evalin is already looking at her when Aelin glances at the kitchen table. The daughter sighs and claims Isla’s vacant seat, waiting.

“Who was that you were talking to?” Her mother asks innocently.

Aelin raises a brow. “I’m a little old for you to still be spying on, aren’t I?”

“Honey,” Evalin says solemnly, “I will keep an eye on you until the day I die.” They both frown at the word choice, and Evalin fluffs her hair, uncomfortable. “Many, many years from now.” A beat. “So, you ought to be on your best behavior in the meantime.”

A snort. “That’s not a very high bar you’re setting, Mom.”

Evalin’s smile says she agrees with Aelin’s statement. Without asking, her mother shuffles the cards and deals them out.

“Aren’t you supposed to go tuck in Is?” Aelin asks, but she plays a card.

“Eh, that kid has probably forgotten all about getting ready for bed,” Aelin’s mother tells her and plays a card of her own. Aelin scowls at the Draw 4, gathers more cards. “If we are lucky, she’s at least brushing her teeth. If we’re unlucky, Isla’s figured out how you used to climb down the trellis to go hang out with the horses.”

She gapes at her mother. “W-what? I _never—_ ”

“Of course not, dear.” Evalin plays a card. “That was my other daughter. My mistake.”

Aelin rolls her eyes. There’s a pause in the conversation as they play a few more rounds. “Well? Who was it?”

“ _Mom_ ,” she whines, feeling sixteen all over again. Her mother just plays another card and waits. Aelin sighs. “It was Rowan.”

“Oh,” is all Evalin says. She waits for the explanation. Aelin can’t say she blames her mother; she’d want an answer, too, if a guy was seeking Isla out at such an hour. Gods forbid that such a day should ever come. Aelin was so not ready.

“He was checking in on me,” Aelin says with a wince.

Evalin smiles. “That was nice of him.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible,” Aelin groans at her mother. On cue, Evalin plays her last card; Aelin was too distracted with evading questions to notice that her mother was winning. Aelin scowls at her. “And you’re a cheater!”

“Don’t be a sore loser, baby,” her mother coos, looking rather pleased with herself. Evalin stands from the table, leaving the mess of cards for Aelin to clean up, as is the loser’s job. “I’m going to go check on Isla.”

Evalin presses a kiss to Aelin’s head as she passes, chuckling at her daughter’s child-like behavior. Aelin huffs an irritated breath at her mother’s affections, still upset about the quick, brutal victory and the prying that helped Evalin achieve it. She totally cheated.

As Aelin cleans the kitchen, she works hard to keep her thoughts from reflecting on the day she’s had. It was a terrible one, and Aelin knew that the shitty times weren’t yet over. She shakes her head to rid herself of that train of thought; if Aelin sits on the front porch any longer, she’ll end up losing a few toes.

Instead, she considers the grumpy, kind man that appeared on the porch this evening. Aelin didn’t doubt for a moment that Rowan was still upset with her. He made it clear to her that he disagreed with her decision to get rid of Kingsflame, and yet, there he was, checking up on her.

He’d noticed her, Aelin realizes as she gathers the cards. Rowan noticed that Aelin wasn’t doing well, saw that she was staring into nothing, sitting alone on her father’s front porch, and he’d made an effort to be there for her. In fact, he’d provided Aelin a distraction from all of her problems by telling her a silly story about Manon. A story that could likely cost him his life were Manon to ever learn of the betrayal.

No wonder Aelin’s father liked Rowan so much.

*

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on Tumblr ([@noodlecatposts](noodlecatposts.tumblr.com)). I'm more active there, and I often share sneak peeks of upcoming chapters for my fics.


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